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Susan Griffin 


WINTER 1988 

Vol. 8, No. 4 Winter 1988 

&/ C realise 

bniail Governors State University, University Park, IL 60466-3193 


ISSN 0736-4733 


Helen E. Hughes, Editor 

Suzanne Oliver, Art Director 

Virginia Eysenbach, Editorial Consultant 

Margo Witkowsky, Typesetter & Designer 

Claudia Snow, Editorial Assistant 


Glenda Bailey-Mershon, Illinois NOW /National Organization for Women, Oak Park, IL 

Donna Bandstra, Healthgroup International, Sherman Oaks, CA 

Margaret Brady, Social Sciences, Homewood, IL 

Rev. Ellen Dohner Livingston, Religion, Unitarian Society of Pomona Valley, CA 

Rita Durrant, League of American Penwomen, Doylestown, PA 

Deborah Garretson Counseling, Park Forest, IL 

Temmie Gilbert, Theatre /Media, Governors State University 

Linda Grace-Kobas, journalism, University of Buffalo, N.Y. 

Harriet Gross, Sociology /Woman's Studies, Governors State University 

Helene N. Gunman, Biological Sciences, Bethesda, MD 

Bethe Hagens, Anthropology, Governors State University 

Barbara Jenkins, Psychology, Governors State University 

Young Kim, Communications Science, Governors State University 

Joan Lewis, Poetry, Powell, OH 

Betye Saar, Fine Arts, Hollywood, CA 

Terri Schwartz, Psychology, Governors State University 

Sara Shumer, Political Theory, Haverford College, PA 

Lynn Thomas Strauss, Women's Studies: Parenting, Oak Park, IL 

Emily Wasiolek, Literature, Prairie State College, Chicago Heights, IL 



3 Introduction 

4 Split Culture, Susan Griffin 

10 The Diary of Constance Talbot, Edited by William C. Gosnell 

13 Brief Authority: Fragments of One Woman's Testament, A Review by Susan Bettis 

17 World Sacrifice, by Rebecca E. Pitts 

22 The Influence of Ukiyo-E and Utamaro on the Work of Mary Cassatt, by Elizabeth Lindsay 

28 Getting Ahead With the Wash, Marguerite O. Hanselman 

30 Poetry, Maya Khosla and Judith Katz-Levine 

31 Poetry, Ruth B. Thornton 

32 Poetry, Jennifer Whitney 

33 Poetry, Gail White 

34 Sexual Bias in the Courtroom, Walter S. Feldman 

35 Creativity Weekend at Forest Beach, Barbara Jenkins, Sally Petrilli and Suzanne Oliver 

40 Letters to the Editor 

4 1 Index to Volumes 7 and 8 
46 Editor's Column 

The Creative Woman is published three times a year by Governors 
State University. We focus on a special topic in each issue, presented 
from a feminist perspective. We celebrate the creative achievements of 
women in many fields and appeal to inquiring minds. We publish fic- 
tion, poetry, book reviews, articles, photography and original graphics. 

Cover photo of Susan Griffin by Raisa Fastman 


It has been the position of this publication that creativity takes many forms. Not only product, 
but process may be new. Not only cultural artifacts but novel modes of organization or building 
human relations may be original. In this issue we look at the creative responses of a variety of 
women to the mess this old world is in as we begin 1988. The persistence of violence and war; 
hatred and prejudice; hypocrisy, lies and corruption in high places — the apparent breakdown of 
social norms, the lack of a society based on shared beliefs— these are all painfully obvious. Look- 
ing deeper, we see remarkable resilience and insight that give us hope: 

We proudly present our lead article by Susan Griffin, poet, writer, lecturer, and one of the most 
influential feminist theorists at work today. In "Split Culture" Griffin explains with profound 
conviction how these human evils stem from self-hatred caused by our separation from nature. 
Constance Talbot, living as a street person, shows how one woman managed to cope with the 
degradation of homelessness; speaking to herself she writes, "... it is not you who are limited so 
much as the distorted perceptions of society." In Rebecca Pitts' great poem, "World Sacrifice," 
we recognize the poet's courageous and moving response to evil and death. Susan Bettis 
explicates this poem in the context of Pitts' volume of poems, Brief Authority. The intricacies of 
Mary Cassatt's tender images make their own statements; Elizabeth Lindsay has shown how her 
work was influenced by Japanese printmakers. 

In Hanselman's short story, one harried housewife takes the option first made possible by Ibsen 
when Nora slammed the door. An old friend, Walter Feldman, advocates reforms in the judicial 
system to remove sexual bias in the courts. This issue features some new poets worth attention, 
personal views of the Creativity Weekend we co-sponsored last Fall, and contains the index to 
volumes 7 and 8. 

There is much in this issue to trouble our hearts but we trust that our readers will find here 

cause for hope and inspiration. As Elmer Witt puts it, "May you enjoy the pains and blessings of 

1988." Happy New Year! 

..jr.™... H£H 



Susan Griffin 

The atom bomb, in many ways, is a perfect 
metaphor, not only, of course, for the physical 
situation we're facing now, but also for the 
psychological situation. If you look at the process 
of the atom bomb, what goes on in creating that 
explosion is a splitting, a separating of energy and 
matter. Part of what I am talking about today is a 
basic split in this culture between spirit and 
matter which roughly plays itself out socially 
along the lines of women and peoples of colour 
and, (in the Western European imagination), 
Jewish people, represent matter, the material, and 
the white male represents spirit and culture. 

The first atom bomb that was dropped on 
Hiroshima had painted on it a nude pin-up of 
Rita Hayworth. And of course, in addition, the 
first population, the only population, that has 
been victimized by nuclear weapons to this date 
was a population looked upon as "the other" by 
the mind and in the mythos of western civiliza- 
tion, because the Japanese are peoples of color. 

What I am going to speak about today, is my per- 
ception of the way that the enemy is perceived. 

At base, the hatred of the enemy, whether is be 
in the form of pornography, sexism, racism or 
antisemitism, is fundamentally, in its genesis, a 
form of self-hatred. 

A number of years ago, I wrote a book called 
Woman and Nature and in it I discovered the 
habit of this mind, the civilized mind, to 
associate woman with nature and matter, and 
man with culture and spirit. Therefore, our 
notion of the human is one that is separated 
from and above nature, and woman is inferior 
insofar as she is closer to nature. Two things 
happen from this separation. One is that we are 
alienated from this world. We exist within 
nature, but we have a relationship of distrust 
with nature. 

In relation to nature, the southern slave-master, 
who, once he had created a slave class, and had 
believed his own description of who and what a 
slave is, then had to live with his terror of the 
people he had enslaved and his own imagination 
of who they were. And, in a sense, we all of us 
live with this terror in relation to nature. 

When we place ourselves above and different 
from nature, outside of nature, we also become 
alienated from ourselves and in a very dangerous 
and serious way, we cease to know ourselves, 
because as we separate ourselves from nature, we 

must then also separate the natural self from our 
idea of who we are because we are nature. We 
breathe, we are born, we die, we eat, we get cold, 
we are part of the biosphere. It is the natural self 
who feels sensations, who feels deep feelings, who 
can be overwhelmed by feeling, can suddenly 
weep or laugh or feel anger, the natural self who 
is very aware of mortality, who remembers 
infancy, who remembers being a child, 
remembers a very deep kind of dependency on 
the earth and on the female body. 

The next book that I wrote after Woman and 
Nature was a book on pornography. And when I 
began it I felt that I was simply going to articulate 
the feminist position about pornography which is 
that pornography is not erotic and that is a form 
which is used to express the degradation of 
women and is used to reduce women to sexual 
objects. But as I was reading pornography, I 
began to see that the same theme exists there 
that I found in Western philosophy and in the 
development of Western science— the same rela- 
tionship to nature and the same idea of woman 
as a symbol of nature, a hidden idea, but very 
much there. In pornography, woman functions in 
the same way as she does in the rest of Western 
mythos as a symbol of the natural and more 
important as a symbol of the denied natural self. 

James Baldwin said in The Fire Next Time, that 
"The nigger" had nothing to do with black people, 
that the creation of "the nigger" was something 
which came from the white mind and that the 

whole portrait, the whole idea of 'the nigger" 
was a description of a part of the white mind. 
This is also true of the heroine in pornography. 
She is in no way like a real woman. That is the 
first thing you realize when you are a woman and 
you read pornography. Approaching por- 
nography, if you have not read it, you expect 
perhaps you will find an erotic experience there, 
or perhaps some new sexual feeling. But when a 
woman reads a pornographic book, she finds no 
one to identify with: there's no way to enter into 
the experience as herself, because the women 
there are so unreal. 

One of the chief sort of allegorial figures in 
pornography is the virgin and I want to talk to 
you about the pornographic virgin, because she 
makes it very clear that the woman in por- 
nography is really not a woman but that she is a 
female impersonator. 

In pornography, the virgin is Snow White, pun 
significant. She is Snow White. She is without 
any thought of sex. She's just never had the 
faintest sexual feeling in herself. She doesn't have 
any hidden desires. She's pure. Well, when you 
think about this, this is really not part of female 
experience. None of us . . . I've never spoken to a 
woman who really claims that there was, at any 
time, a period in her life when she was really free 
of any impure thoughts. And as you read 
pornography you begin to realize that this pure 
virgin is not a woman, but she represents a hid- 
den wish of the pornographer's. And that what 
he's really desiring is that he would have 
moments in which he did not have any sexual 
thoughts, because sexual thoughts are profoundly 
disturbing to him. They're very problematic 
to him. 

I discovered, in fact, in my work on pornography, 
that the reason sexual thoughts are so profoundly 
disturbing to the pornographer and to this 
culture, is that in the sexual experience one is 
taken back to a profoundly physical state in 
which one can no longer deny that one is very 
deeply part of nature and is therefore a depen- 
dent, mortal person. And that moreover the sex- 
ual experience takes one precisely back to those 
feelings that one had as an infant, even if they're 
not consciously remembered. The feelings 
themselves are remembered, being close to that 
maternal body, that body which had such power 
over one: to feed or not to feed, to care for, to 
pick up or not to pick up, to leave us wet and 
crying in the crib. And that our first notions of 
what death were occurred there in that infantile 
state, because, you know, we associate death with 
abandonment, with being cold, with being terribly 
lonely. We have no idea really what death is but 
when the imagery of death comes up, it matches 
in every way the infantile experience of not being 

cared for during certain moments. 

If the primary delusion, we have come to believe, 
in this society, is that we are above nature — and 
that therefore we can place ourselves above the 
natural experiences of loss and eventual death 
and vulnerability to change and dependency on 
the biosphere and, in our infancy, on a woman's 
body — the sexual experience has to break 
through this delusion, because it brings us back 
to that memory of the infant's experience of 
closeness with our mother's body and of 
dependency on another creature. 

It was doing my work on pornography that made 
me understand why woman is made into the 
symbol of nature, because the infant's first 
experience of nature is through a woman's body. 
And she represents natural power for the child 
for a number of years. She is the one who can 
feed or not feed, who holds life and death in her 

Well, getting back to the pornographic virgin. 
There are a couple of giveaways in the classic 
story of the pornographic virgin, that make you 
realize that she is really not who she seems to be, 
that she really is a female impersonator. There's a 
very classic plot in pornography which occurs 
over and over again, The Man with the Maid, 
which is a Victorian classic, the Marquis de 
Sade's Justine has this plot, Behind the Green Door 
has this plot. That is, a young woman, virgin, 
pure, is kidnapped by a hero and he takes her to 
his castle, or to his condominium, and she is 
taken off to a padded sort of room and he pro- 
ceeds to humiliate her, take her clothes off and 
rape her. Now, the first giveaway is that she 
really loves being raped. This is not the 
experience that women have, when they are 
raped. But it is an experience which is consistent- 
ly projected on women, not only in pornography, 
but in the culture in general. It took the feminist 
movement a number of years to break down that 
myth that women really want to be raped and 
that that is why rape occurs. 

The second giveaway is that after he rapes her 
and then she likes it because she has all these 
orgasms and she's having such fun, he doesn't 
say to her, "Oh, gee, I'm so glad you liked it and, 
you know, you were so cold to me you forced me 
into kidnapping you, and what a drag and now 
we can really get it on, you know, we can really 
be lovers." Nor— if he's the type who doesn't like 
to get involved— does he say, "Well, look, you 
know, we have a good thing here, why don't you 
come over once a week to my castle, maybe 
Tuesday nights, and sleep over, you know." He 
says to her, "You slut, you wanted it all along, 
didn't you." And he says this, because he is 
absolutely right. She is his projected desire to 

remain pure. He's angry at himself. He has split 
his natural self off from himself. Therefore, he 
has lost his eros. He's lost his connection to the 
universe. He's lost his capacity to love. He's lost 
his sensuality. He's furious at her for holding out, 
for holding back on him. He's furious at this part 
of himself for leaving. And it's true he did want 
it all along. He wanted that part of himself back. 
But, at the same time, he's enraged with her, 
because she does come back. She's a slut for 
coming back. Because when she comes back, she 
brings that other knowledge back, the knowledge 
of nature and the knowledge that he does not 
have power over nature, because indeed he's 
simply a part of nature; he is vulnerable and 

You see the same kind of split, love-hate relation- 
ship in really every imaginary enemy relationship 
that I've studied. It's particularly clear in the 
racist imagination or the anti-semite's imagina- 
tion. We're all very familiar with American 
racism towards black people, because this 
country's history is so inextricably woven with 
that history of racism. 

I discovered that, in fact, pornography 
accompanies racism and racism accompanies 
pornography. Where you find one you will find 
the other. 

In Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a 
Number, Jacobo Timmerman describes what it 
was like to be imprisoned in Argentina, both 
because he was a Jew and also because he was a 
journalist who was speaking out about the repres- 
sion and censorship in Argentina. One of the 
things he describes, continually through his 
book, is the connection between a certain kind of 
violent, enemy-creating thought and pornography. 
He calls this the erotism of violence. He speaks of 

Eduardo Galliano, who is an Uraguayan writer 
of the left. Timmerman wrote against both leftist 
violence and right wing violence — and he quotes 
a sentence from Galliano's book, saying "the first 
time in violence is like the first time in love." He 
also describes a right wing book, called The Seven 
Madmen, by Roberto Arldt. In the plot of this 
book a terrorist revolutionary group plots to take 
over the government and this group is financed 
by profits from a chain of brothels. This 
imaginary association between prostitution and a 
kind of basically totalitarian mentality is one 
which he also discovered when he was imprison- 
ed in Argentina. He found that the torturers and 
the officers were entitled to control over prostitu- 
tion in certain bars and that "three very beautiful 
girls are inmates at Coti Martinez and service the 
guards' sexual whims." And, of course, we know 
that one way for women to survive within the 
Nazi concentration camps was to act as 
prostitutes. And finally he describes the por- 
nography of torture within the prison. Here, in a 
sense, men became the objects of pornography in 
the torture within the prison. 

For example, the guards order the prisoner to 
run naked along the passageway which is fifty 
meters from one end to the other, and force him 
to recite aloud sentences such as "My mother's a 
whore," "The whore who gave birth to me." "I 
masturbate." "I must respect the corporal or 
guard." "The police love me." Here again is a 
love-hate relationship in which eros is turned 
into a kind of aggression. 

I want to tell you a story from the holocaust. I'm 
actually going to read it from an article, which I 
wrote, called, "The Way of All Ideology: The 
Need for An Enemy," about Hitler's anti- 
semitism, because it illustrates so perfectly what 
I'm saying about the denied self existing in the 

"Every time I deny myself I commit a kind of 
suicide. And it is, in this light, interesting to 
know that Hitler, the prototype of the fascist 
man, committed suicide. For his hatred and 
fear of 'the Jew' — and then the Slavs, and 
black people, the gay, the disabled — was 
ultimately a denied self-hatred. Of this one 
story comes to mind. When he wrote Mein 
Kampf Hitler recorded that he became an anti- 
Semite one day when he saw an old man 
dressed in a caftan walking through Vienna. 
'Is this a Jew?' he asked, and then said to 
himself, 'Is this a German?' deciding forever 
that this Jew could not have been a German 
and was eternally separate and different from 

When you project a denied identity onto 
another, it is essential that you define that other 
as different. Otherwise the projection does no 

good. If I'm going to project and then say, "oh, 
that person is just like me," then I have to own • 
what I am projecting back again. So, it was essen- 
tial, at the moment in which Hitler decided his 
career in life was to be an anti-Semite that he 
define the Jew as not German, that he, Hitler, is 
a German and this person over here is a Jew and 
not like himself. When he would speak about this 
man in the caftan— this man in a caftan became 
symbolic to him of his hatred for the Jewish 
people — he would work himself up into a parox- 
ysm of hatred even to the point that once when 
he was speaking he went backstage and vomited. 

After I had read about this passage in Mein 
Kampf which he brought up often in his orations, 
1 learned that when he was a young art student, 
Hitler bought his clothes from a Jewish man who 
sold secondhand apparel. And the piece of 
clothing he wore most often was, guess what. . .a 
caftan. He wore this caftan so often that people 
identified him with it: "There's Hitler in his 
caftan." Moreover, what Hitler did not know is 
that the Jewish caftan is really German dress 
from the Middle Ages preserved by the Jewish 
people who were exiled from Germany, at that 
time, and brought back into Germany when they 
could return. So that what was Hitler's personal 
story was also actually the story of the German 
people's relationship to the Jew and of Western 
civilization's relationship to "the other." 

The hatred of the other is a kind of suicide. 

The frenzy of the hatred of this enemy is such 
that the pornographer, or the racist or the anti- 
Semite is willing actually to sacrifice his own life 
in order to murder the other. In the progress of 
the war between Germany and Russia, when the 
German troops were on the Russian front and 
when the passage of troops and supplies to the 
Russian front was absolutely crucial to the 
military situation, rather than send these troop 
trains filled with troops and supplies to the 
Russian front to fight in that crucial battle, these 
trains were deployed, taken away from military 
effort and filled with Jews to send them to their 
death at Auschwitz. 

The one who needs an enemy needs it so 
desperately that he is willing to sacrifice his own 
material existence in this battle against the 

The structure of mind which creates an enemy 
really can work with any ideological system. The 
system of ideology which produces an enemy 
robs us, not only of our relationship to nature 
and our natural self, our sense of deepest feeling 
and connection with the universe, but it also 
takes from us a whole range of imaginative 
possibility. Because when we are so alienated 
from ourselves we lose a great deal of self- 

knowledge and, it finally is, I believe, from deep 
self-knowledge, first and foremost, that human 
creativity springs. 

Nadezhda Mandelstam writing about persecution 
under the Stalinist regime noticed that the Soviet 
bureaucracy had a particular difficulty with 
poetry, that the poetic imagination was 
particulary frightening to the totalitarian mind. 
And I realized also, in studying the history of the 
holocaust, that, in fact, it was at that period of 
enormous creativity that the right wing rose up 
in Germany and that anti-Semitism became such 
a powerful force. And that it was a period of 
profound creativity most particularly on the part 
of European Jews. It was a virtual flowering. You 
have only to list a few names: Einstein, 
Schonberg, Mahler. The list of names can go on 
and on of Jewish people who, at the time, were 
enormously creative and in virtually every field. 
So this kind of ideological construct not only 
destroys creativity, but is actually terribly afraid 
of it. And thus ideology works itself into a kind 
of box because it cuts off possibilities in its 
own mind. 

We find the same kind of thought in relation to 
nuclear warfare now in the Reagan administra- 
tion. In Robert Scheer's book which he has 
written about Reagan's thinking about nuclear 
warfare, he quotes a man, T.K. Jones, "whose 
idea of civil defense is crucial to Reagan's defense 
policy." And T.K. Jones' idea of how we can 
survive atomic warfare is this, "If there are 
enough shovels to go around, everyone's going to 
make it." 

In a system in which you have replaced reality 
and the force of nature with a system of ideas 
which you believe gives you some magical power 
over nature, when reality intervenes, when the 
truth comes in and says to you "this delusionary 
system is not truthful," this truth is seen as 
terrifically threatening. In that system of mind, in 
that structure of mind, anybody who reveals the 
untruth of the idea is mortally dangerous. The 
ideology has not become a way to really explain 
and understand nature, but has become a way of 
mastery over nature, a way to prove that, in fact, 
your mere thoughts can make you immortal and 
can place you above the natural process. 
Therefore, if those thoughts are disproved as 
untrue, by reality, you are actually brought face- 
to-face with the fact of your own mortality. And 
the more that the truth of our position on the 
earth as natural mortal beings is denied, the 
more the terror of death and mortality grows. 
Anybody who is going to break through that 
delusionary system is actually perceived, in a 
psychological way, by the person who believes in 
the delusionary system as mortally threatening. 
And therefore it is interesting that the Reagan 

Administration portrays anybody who has a fear 
of nuclear war as serving the "designs of the 
Kremlin". I'm quoting Rostov. 

The projection of a denied self onto an enemy 
never works. And, in fact, not only does it not 
work, but the enemy is perceived as someone 
who gets stronger and stronger and stronger, 
because with every effort to imaginatively 
diminish and reduce this enemy, the enemy still 
returns. So, therefore, the enemy must be like 
that mythic creature, when you cut one head off 
nine other heads grow. 

It is exactly this kind of distortion that Hitler 
made of his enemy, the Jew. He actually believed 
that the Jews had tremendous power over the 
German nation. And his idea of this power 
actually grew as the actual power of the Jew 
within society diminished. After the laws which 
stripped Jewish citizens of Germany of any right 
which would make a Jewish person able to hold 
any reasonable power within society, that was 
when Hitler's ideas about Jewish power got even 
more hysterical. Because you see, if you 
imaginably strip your enemy of power and your 
enemy really represents the denied part of 
yourself, and then you're still breathing, you still 
suddenly have a sexual feeling, you have a feeling 
of loss or of love for somebody or a feeling of 
hunger or thirst. 

So, this Jew or this Soviet system with its missiles 
or this woman over there must be incredibly 
powerful, because look what you've done to her. 
You've taken away every civil right this person 
has and yet they still have this power to make 
you feel mortal. 

The attacks on the enemy, both in the imagina- 
tion and in reality, have to increase. And there is 
a final solution in mind. It's a final solution 
which exists in the mind of pornography and, 
unfortunately, it's a final soution which, I 
believe, exists in the mind of this civilization. 

The final solution which ideological culture has 
for the extermination of the enemy is to destroy 
the enemy and to replace the enemy with a docu- 
ment showing the destruction of that enemy. 

It's interesting that one of the times Robert 
Scheer interviewed T.K. Jones (who believes that 
we can defend ourselves against a nuclear blast 
with a shovel), he interviewed him in an office 
which apparently is filled with photographs of 
Hiroshima immediately after the nuclear blast. 
And during this period in which I was doing this 
research, I happened to spend half a day riding 
across the countryside with a woman who is part 
of the American Indian movement, and she told 
me that the best records of the Indian massacres 
were kept by the American army. 

Well, even the final solution doesn't work. What 
must happen is, because the final solution doesn't 
work, and, of course, we know it can't because 
the enemy is not out there, but the enemy is in 
here, the concept of who the enemy is must be 
expanded. For instance, Hitler had a whole list. 
After he was going to finish the Jews, then he 
was going to exterminate the Polish people, then 
he was going to exterminate the Ukrainian peo- 
ple, then he was going to exterminate thirty 
million Russian people, then he was going to 
exterminate the Western intelligentia, he was 
going to exterminate people in Holland and in 
Alsace-Lorraine. Then the Nazi regime had in 
the works something called the German health 
bill, and anybody who did not meet this health 
bill in terms of their own physical health and 
also in terms of their genetic, supposedly racial, 
background, was also going to be exterminated. 

I think it is no accident that we use the expres- 
sion "nuclear holocaust," because I feel that the 
situation that we're facing now with the fear and 
imminent danger of nuclear war is an extension 
of that psychological system, and that 
philosophical habit of mind that produced the 
Nazi holocaust. 

The new enemy is all of us. The holocaust was 
not an isolated sort of quirk in Western civiliza- 
tion. I think that we have to begin to regard 

both Hitler and his hated enemy, the Jew, as self- 
portraits. We have to start to see the traditional 
enemy, the woman and the Jew, as a secret part 
of ourselves. And we also have to understand 
that the anti-Semite, and the misogynist, the por- 
nographer, the Fascist, represents a self-portrait 
too of a habit of mind of this civilization, which 
we've all been taught and that is the habit of 
mind of creating an enemy. In fact the holocaust 
was an expression of a crisis that Western civiliza- 
tion was experiencing at the time of World War 
II. And the crisis is not over. We are still 
experiencing the same crisis with a split identity. 
We have now expanded the idea of the enemy 
and it is getting closer to home. We are coming 
close to an actual expression of self-hatred and to 
actual suicide. This is the meaning of the nuclear 

Based on a speech that Susan Griffin gave at the Faces of the 
Enemy Conference which was held in San Francisco, sponsored by 
the University of California. The other speakers were Sam Keen, 
Robert Bly, Ashley Montagu, William Sloane Coffin, Roshi 
Baker, Arthur M. Cox and Valentin Berezhkov. The purpose of 
the conference was to seek solutions to the problems of war "not 
in our weapons but in our minds." Susan Griffin delivered her 
speech extemporaneously. 



William C. Gosnell 

What follows are some pages of a diary kept by a 
homeless woman named Constance Talbot. She 
began writing at the age of twenty four while she was 
living on the streets for a period of six months. 
During this time she craftily found shelter in churches 
and university buildings in a well known New 
England college town. She wrote in a small black 
loose leaf note book which she found on a church 
organ shelf. This book had originally contained lists 
of church hymns for Sunday services. She made entries 
in her diary in a wide variety of places: in elegant 
rooms belonging to the children of professors, in 
empty Victorian music rooms, in quiet office hallways 
after hours. 

Being homeless is not an easy thing for someone to 
endure and is for most a trying ordeal. Constance 
managed to survive in a hostile metropolitan environ- 
ment for this period of time without any outside 
money or assistance. She carried such things as books, 
clothes, shoe laces, articles and letters in a small 
brown day pack. Sometimes she spent the night wrap- 
ped up in choir robes on the balcony of a Lutheran 
church. She spent one night in a lavishly decorated 
residential living room while the owners slept 
unknowingly on the second floor. She ate their 
oatmeal cookies and bananas and then left before 
dawn through an open window. 

June 20 

At times it takes so much courage to do the 
simplest things. To carry out actions to comple- 
tion becomes a frightening occupation. It 
becomes a question of whether to give birth or 
not, whether to subject oneself to labor pains, 
whether to have a child. What happens to this 
child? Does it live? Does the fruit of one's actions 
live or die? Each task is a birth and a death, and 
serves such a temporary but necessary purpose 
for a brief instant of time. These fleeting 
moments are filled with solitary actions that 
serve such solitary and simple needs. Once again 
these needs recur and these actions, these efforts 
of action whose consequences may or may not be 
beneficial, are carried out. 

June 24 

It's 1:00 p.m. and I'm sitting at the Paradise Cafe 
watching people walking in all directions. I've 
noticed how frightened people are of one 
another, how hesitant they are to deal with one 
another. It's a matter of their unfounded beliefs. 
They are the guilty ones. They are a part of the 
human instinctual structure. They are a profound 
proof of an animalistic characteristic of aggres- 

sion toward the unknown. A fear of difference, a 
strange apathy and yet a discreet fear of another 
human being. We are all sitting here watching 
one another, periodically noticing new things 
with fleeting glances, fleeting judgments, 
unfounded prejudices. The limited range of 
human perception is so evident in this 

June 26 

At present it is approximately 8:45 p.m. and I'm 
resting on a bed on the second floor of Kingston 
House Master's lodgings. I'm in what is obviously 
a woman's room. The room actually looks like 
something out of Architectural Digest. I cooked 
spaghetti downstairs in the a very lovely kitchen 
— added bamboo shoots and water chestnuts to 
the boiling pot. The professor is on sabbatical 
with his family. In some ways I'm getting lost in 
the comfort of this house. The furniture is all 
antique and intricately patterned with 


July 5 

I am currently spreading marmalade jelly on 
stone ground wheat thin crackers I found in the 
basement kitchen of the University Lutheran 
church. And 1 am drinking mint Hampshire tea 
also found on these premises. I'm sprinkling a 
little cinnamon over the marmalade jelly on the 
cracker which sort of neutralizes the extreme 
sugar taste of the jelly and makes the cinnamon, 
marmalade and cracker combination a fairly 
adequate one. 

July 8 

Baked pound cake with paranoid schizophrenic 
woman named Marion at School Street shelter. 
She considers libraries to be scary places and 
believes that in order to become a librarian one 
must first become tall and skinny. I disagreed 
with her. Marion is in her early fifties and has 
quite a temper. Later on, managed to play 
Scrabble with Marion and an old man named 
Sal. Marion acquired thirty points for the entire 
game. Her first word was SINS. While Sal and I 
were playing, Marion made a reference to the 
birds chirping in the trees outside. She said, 
"One must have had a baby because they're 

July 10 

I am currently at Faith Lutheran shelter on 
Prospect and Broadway. Came here tonight hop- 
ing to find bed. They don't have any room, so 
I'm lying down in a choir robe closet filled with 
choir robes. I don't think these robes are current- 
ly used by the Faith Lutheran choir, I think these 
are old robes. It's rather a confined space, this 
closet, in the balcony of the church. The organ is 
about thirty feet away from me. 

July 17 

Stayed at Harcove School of Music. Walked up 
the fire escape at 12:20 a.m. and entered through 
the window. Once inside, found many grand 
pianos. Explored building. Ate lemon yogurt 
from student lounge fridge. Walked upstairs to 
room with baby grand piano. Sat in dark. Played 
third movement of Bach Cappricio. Found 
pianos to vary in action and tone quality. Turn- 
ed on lights for short period of time in room. 
Decided too risky, might be noticed. Purchased 
coffee from vending machine in student lounge. 
Enjoyed playing pianos. House of pianos. 
Harcove house of pianos. Slept for four hours on 
window seat. Woke at six a.m. and left by fire 

August 1 

Stood behind door in downstairs pantry of 
Heidleberg Library after quickly taking mug of 
tomato soup out of microwave oven while clean- 
ing woman emptied garbage pail six inches from 
my hand. Earlier I watched episodes of Bob 
Newhart on color TV in the media center room 
and a Twilight Zone episode, "Queen of the Nile." 

August 5 

At approximately 3 a.m. opened window of 
Willow Nursery School. Once inside sat quietly 
in reading section of playroom amongst pillows 
used by children during story time. Turned ther- 
mostat up to 70 degrees. Read children's books. 
Dr. Seuss, "Hop and Pop", and "The Seven Little 
Rabbits." Fell asleep and woke at 5 a.m. 

August 14 

Broke small courtyard window of Kingstone 
House Master's lodgings. Reached in and undid 
the latch. Opened door and stepped into living 
room. Furniture covered with white sheets. 
Grand piano in corner. Tripped floor sensitive 
alarm in hallway - discernable siren. Left quickly 
through courtyard door. Courtyard surrounded 
by unscalable iron spike fence. Rain coming 
down in buckets. Ran into Kingston House 
student quarters. Left through student quarters 
window onto side street by Regent College 
athletic center. Stepped off Regent property as 
police car sped by me, lights flashing. Walked 
quickly into bookstore on Markus Avenue. 

August 19 

I am currently in the Folklore and Mythology 
building in back of Holy Cross church on Tucker 
Street. I'm not sure if I was seen entering the 
building through the back door which happened 
to have been open. I'm eating raisins obtained 
from the fridge. 

August 24 

It is approximately 8:20 a.m. Cooked Spanish 
rice for breakfast on stove in University Lutheran 
kitchen - large gas stove with ten burners. Rather 
efficient stove in terms of cooking ability. 
Washed dishes and pot used for Spanish rice and 
returned them to their places. Last night I used 
one blanket from a plastic bag of newly washed 
blankets marked "7 blankets" and two sheets 
from another bag marked "20 clean sheets." 
Returned blanket and sheets to bags. 






^ W)( 


v v r ~V 



i i li 


September 18 

Felt dizzy after sitting in Robertson Park. Took 
bus to Deerfield City Hospital. Beautiful, 
intelligent doctor gave me a check up. It was so 
wonderful. I wish I had said something to him 
like, "I really enjoyed touching your finger in the 
hand-nose coordination test." I still feel a little 
dizzy— and even though the doctor said it was 
probably due to a lack of food, I still wonder. 

August 29 

Remaining alone with an undeveloped mind 
while enduring great pains will only ensure that 
scars will remain forever in my thoughts, taunt- 
ing my decisions with connotations of pain. Is 
the whole world completely insensitive? Are the 
majority of people hiding in fear of being 
misunderstood? Are they wise to hide? Do they 
somehow know that approaching others with 
pleasant or critical words will only provoke 
superficial judgements to be placed upon them? — 
petty judgements which are all the majority is 
capable of. Do they know that people young and 
old can only see so far and the limit of these 
perceptions destroy what could otherwise be 
something of value? In the daytime you walk 
around and you know that limited interaction is 
all that is possible. And it is not you who are 
limited so much as the distorted perceptions of 

September 9 

Went to Deerfield City Hospital psychiatric 
emergency room and spoke to person there. 
After speaking for awhile with him he said, 
"Your use of vocabulary and the fact that you 
seem so articulate gives me the impression that 
you've had some education. Have you gone to 
college?" "No, just high school", I said. "What 
high school?," he asked inquisitively as if it had 
been some high class private place. "Only a 
public school," I replied. He gave me some tran- 
quilizers and I left. 




by Rebecca Pitts. New York: Vantage, 1986. 
Reviewed by Susan Bettis 

The voice in Brief Authority is the voice of a 
woman contemplating her approaching death, 
trying to distill a lifetime of experience and 
reflection into a collection of poetry. Rebecca 
Pitts burned all her youthful poems during her 
forties and didn't begin this volume of poetry till 
she was seventy-two. Here she presents her con- 
tribution to one of our century's most compell- 
ing tasks: the need to reconcile science and 

Hers is a feminist reconciliation which uses 
evolution, the big bang theory and ancient god- 
dess rituals to symbolize inner spiritual processes. 
Although one could not classify Pitts as an 
essentialist feminist who defines woman by her 
bodily experience, she is nevertheless im- 
aginatively aware of the visualization and 
understanding achieved by using the body and 
related gender experience as metaphor. 

Her connection of feminine bodily cycles with 
the cycles of biological and cosmic evolution and 
with the spiritual cycles of ego death and rebirth 
helps to fill the gaps created by literal religion 
and material science. And she prescribes 
feminine values and feminist critiques of culture 
as antidotes to the unmediated masculinity of 
patriarchy and the excesses of its technology. 
Contemplation of death, a cosmic spiritual 
quest, and angry political exhortation, then, 
combine to reveal an electrifying vision of life. 

Her five major groups of imagery anchor this 
vision: fire — as the symbol of both cosmic begin- 
nings and nuclear endings; water — as biological 
beginnings, the "vast genetic broth" from which 
emerged evolutionary life ("Sea Figure"); dance — 
as life itself; harvest — as the death process; and 
vision — with its opposites of light and dark as 
both the experience and the outcome of the 
mystical journey toward wisdom. 

The book is divided into three major sections, 
but the poems in each are too complex to fit 
neatly into exclusive categories. However, the 
poems in "The Dance" are mainly those which 
explore time and death, ancient feminine 
mystery rituals, and the inner world of dreams, 
meditation and vision. Those in "The World in 
Our Heart" celebrate the earthly life, its brevity 
and joy, and its need to be informed by the 
wisdom of the spiritual life. The final poems in 
"But Man, Proud Man" are the most political, 

those which lament the threats of biocide and 
nuclear annihilation, the end of human life. 

It is her own approaching death which Pitts 
contemplates in "Setting Out," one of several 
dream poems involving watery journeys. Here, 
her "last look at memory" and her "first glimpse 
of unborn time beyond this hour" merge "... as 
if the vast heart of the sea merged in one beat 
systole and diastole." Visions of moments past 
return to the dying soul and 

dear Life quickens and redeems 

moments long lost wild strawberries tasted 

on a summer hill 

or a moonlit meadow circled with dark trees:... 

A student of Jungian psychology, Pitts 
frequently traveled the dark watery world of 
dreams, and in "Song for a Voyager" she calls 
that journey to the world of inner spaces the 
"one journey and one journey only." In "The 
Horn Gate" she warns "Yet beware, voyager. 



You cannot find/ that radiant Stranger in such 
emptiness/ as yawns within you." One must face 

dim hideous beasts; forms, words, that come 

to mirror 
shards of your life unlived or lived in places 
better forgot than lingered in. These traces — 
all corpsed— must be ejected from deep slime 
and looked at. They're what's yours. (For the 

far sea-spaces 
of Mind, true Mind — these are not yours.) In 

you'll cry, "This dark thing is mine own." 

But there — 
where you touch ruin — lies medicine for 


It is the death of the ego which must be suf- 
fered in order for the spirit to resurrect. Thus, in 
"A Dream of Meaning" the poet explores the 
meaning of one dream which leads her toward 
vision and "far-gazing" and away from worldly 
power or wealth, away from the "spoiled eye" or 
the "colossal T." 

It is not the worldly accomplishment of linear 
human history which most interests Pitts. 
Rather, she celebrates the feminine eternal pro- 
cesses of birth, death and rebirth: the repetition 
and eternity of both cyclical and monumental 
time described by Julia Kristeva in her essay, 
"Women's Time." 1 The partly autobiographical 
"Advent and Eleusis" portrays women's time in 
a fusion of recent births and deaths in the lives 
of Pitts' friends with those cosmic goddess 
mysteries which celebrate "The ripe soul's 

Pitts dedicates "Advent and Eleusis" to her 
friend Muriel Rukeyser who died in February, 
1980. (She knew Rukeyser during the twelve 
years she spent in New York and at Yaddo 
before being called home to her ailing mother in 
Indianapolis. Rukeyser always called on Pitts' 
Advent-season birthday.) The fusion of the 
cosmic and the personal is italicized for her by a 
baby shower at a discussion group meeting 
which happened to occur on Advent Sunday, 
1979 and by the felt absence of the usual call 
from the then-ailing Rukeyser. The poem's 
themes come together as she describes both 
Rukeyer's ". . .knowing so deeply/ what shell 
must be be broken in birth that is also death" 
and Rukeyser poems which 

celebrate mystery: 

sing birth sing the glad running of children 

sing the true grace the meaning the depth 

of promise in women 
sing above all the arrival of new meanings 
and the burst of Light when the quick Spirit 


In "Sea Figure" the water birth of human life 

itself is celebrated. The poet echoes ancient 
religious reverence for both the ocean and 
woman's body, with its ocean-like amniotic fluid, 
as the sources of biological life. The source of 
"the vast genetic broth" is: 

. . .varied, incredibly prodigal, blind to the 

death in her green caves — 
spawning life, freezing her fossils, now and 

then tossing landward 
some of her only partly successful odd 

creations . . . 

Here, echoing an ancient ritual chant, Pitts 
urges contemporary mystics to go to the sea, as 
did those worshipers at ancient Eleusis and as 
did those women refugees from the Inquisition. 
"For all those who would see the fullness/ of 
harvested truth at Eleusis must come to this 
place." She presents the sea as both source and 
symbol of life, as "Mother and memory of all 
Life," as the love goddess symbolizing timeless 
renewals, and as: 

Image of latent Mind creating Life in the 

image of limitless possibility 
for Life on this planet perhaps on a myriad 

she is pointing forever toward Mind and its 

inner oceanic spaces. 

The section "The World in Our Heart" con- 
tinues the concern with genesis, and in the 
highly condensed and multilayered "Beginnings," 
Pitts celebrates fiery — rather than watery — 
beginnings. Pitts sees Space-Time as the source 
and symbol of fiery transformations: "... a twin 
blaze out of some black zero/ state of potential." 
She ponders the mysterious beginnings of 
human speech and capacity for abstract thought, 
and the "leaping-awake" of Mind which builds 
the Eye in each new species. 

"Fire-fearers, fire-stealers, and in the end fire- 
makers," we received our most human gift of 
speech from "tongues of fire"; and all came to us 
from the new Mind that was both kindled and 
kindler. She has moved beyond the judgmental 
white father, the masculine creator in the 
heavens, to Meaning that is "purpose, wrapt in 
mystery." ("Meditation") 

Fire is associated primarily with men: from 
Adam's fire-stick in "A Sestina for Mother Eve" 
to the scarred and blistered country created by 
patriarchy's nuclear installations in "Hunter 
Moon." But in "A Sestina for Mother Eve" Pitts 
offers us the feminine aspects of fire and light: 
the hearth as "the focus of history"; the "flame 
from a sky-flash" which kindled knowledge in 
Eve; and the true greatness of human history, 
"the Inner Light of creation." According to Pitts, 

. . . led humankind into history 
out of cold speechless caves. For being a 

she was receptive to rumor and heard the 

Voice; and being Its daughter, 
she was linked to Its pregnant silence and 

hushed promise of creation. 
So when clumsy "Adam" lurched into the 

cave and swung his new fire-stick there 
in the hollow half-dark, she foresaw the whole 

terrible story, 
dimly foresaw it all, and accepted. 

It was Eve "who stared at the flame and 
brooded, whose third Eye opened and saw crea- 
tion." "A Sestina for Mother Eve" gives us a 
symbolic condensed version of Merlin Stone's 
theory of Genesis which sees the snake not as a 
symbol of evil but as a symbol of resurrection 
and mystic vision, in accordance with ancient 
mother worship. 2 "Don't call them phallic sym- 
bols," the poet warns, but rather see them as 
"vessels of sacred venom, to sting into visions of 
history/ antique oracular sibyls." 

In this second section, Pitts' politics have 
become obvious. "In the Kitchen (I)" criticizes 
Carl Jung for his sexist reductionism, his relega- 
tion of women to "their cramped domestic 
finitude." On a symbolic level she recognizes the 
multiple possibilities of his use of the kitchen as 
"a perfect image for the endless work of self crea- 
tion." But she chides this twentieth century 
shaman and medicine man: 

serene on his height, secure above the 

cluttered cupboards, 
the kettle that nearly boils over into the quiet 

madness, the 
greasy stacks of dishes, the whining children, 

the creaky pump, 
the stopped-up drain, the vista of monotonous 

destined to lengthen, with their back-breaking 

burden of 
stooping over a soiled sink, into the 

funeral of the future. 

"In the Kitchen (II)" transforms the image into 
its opposite as the poet lovingly remembers the 
pansies and nasturtiums in her mother's orderly 
kitchen. In the family house she inherited, the 
table that once featured old-fashioned, chicken- 
fried round steak and "creamy new peas and 
potatoes" now features 

. . .vitamins, books, and feminist papers— 
with pamphlets on rape, on toxic waste, on 
countless endangered species. . . 

Still criticizing Jung who condescendingly 
associates women with finitude and the body, 
she asserts that for her mother she would praise 

finitude. And it is in this kitchen that she recon- 
nects to her mother and begins to realize that 

In those late years of quiet accepting — of 

loneliness and well-doing— 
of weeping and missing your departed 

children — 
it wasn't for him, or for us, you planted phlox 

and peonies, 
trained roses to climb the kitchen porch, fed 

redbirds and sparrows, 
hung on your clothesline a tiny home for 

the wrens, 
who sometimes perched there between your 

very fingers. 

This image of the mother drawing a strength 
and self-renewal from nature reminds one of the 
image in Margaret Atwood's Surfacing when the 
protagonist remembers her mother feeding and 
training the birds to perch on her shoulders as 
she stretches her hand out to them. 3 

Like Atwood's protagonist, Pitts too preaches 
environmental politics, transforming the 
mother's connection to nature into the verbal 
warrior's protection of it. All of the poems in 
the final section, "But Man, Proud Man," cry to 
save the earth of which the poet is so viscerally 
enamored. "If Men Loved Life" echoes Rosemary 
Reuther's New Woman New Earth in blaming 
Cartesian duality and patriarchy's "sterile reason 
and either-or logic" unredeemed by the more 
feminine "gifts of imagination and compassion" 
for the threats of biocide and nuclear annihila- 
tion. 4 Pitts warns: 

Good servant of worthy ends, but a sinister 

such reason powers now on a deep buried wish 

of the forgetful 
who are only for themselves — under whose 

heedless hands 
the last World Teacher of technical man (his 

blind, mechanical Messiah) 
plods on — at incredible speeds, to be sure, but 

plodding and mindlessly pointing 
only to mastery of means, but not — not to that 
hidden end. 

At times compelling, this poem occasionally 
loses its force to excess commentary. The angry 
poet — perhaps the dying poet — is unable to force 
herself to edit. 

"World Sacrifice" treats the same theme far 
more successfully, more poetically. In its opening 
lines this lament recognizes the positive contribu- 
tions of science and technology which gave us 
the photographic image of the whole earth: 

O loveliest, afloat around the sun 

in her blue bubble — her jeweled atmosphere — 

she catches the breath with her strange 

seen now at last from space. 


The poet then uses the revelations of modern 
physics in her mystical contemplation of this 
holistic image: 

. . . and time's arrow of direction 
flies toward a distant dark and absolute zero; 
but on the way what miracle, what wonder! 
from that first flash— eternally improbable— 
that burst of Light, or Fire, through intricate 

wave-particle events that danced to form 
trillions on trillions of galaxies, then stars — 
among them ours — and here, among these 

lonely, sapphire, and fragile — again ours. 

The images in this passage, like those in other of 
her cosmic poems, call to mind the fluidly 
electric — often explosive — canvases of Lee 
Krasner, Jackson Pollack and Helen Franken- 
thaler. Pitts is clearly a poet of her times. Not 
only, then, does this culmination poem repeat 
her cosmic dance and fire images, but as she 
moves into the political, she presents the planet's 
necessary ecological balance as a product of the 
cycles of life and their sacrificial nature: 

Then with sacrifice as companion all these 

come out of mystery into the great world 

rite: . . . 
all die for other life, live on the death 

of others. 

Pitts then utters a plaintive litany of greed, 
vanishing species, poisoned fertility and starving 
children. She predicts that "Soon science will 
feed us/ more than we'd hoped for." The despair 
of "World Sacrifice" is relieved only partly by the 
book's final poem, "Strict Is the Charge." This 
poem reminds us that the mind can be charged, 
the will broken, until "haunted perspectives 
open,/ echo, and enlarge." Thus the fate of the 
earth remains in the hands of us the living. 

It is significant that many of these poems were 
written during the last two years of Pitts' life 
when she knew she was dying of cancer, and all 
of them were written during her seventies. She is 
wistful when watching young roller skaters on 
the San Diego boardwalk in "On the Beach" and 
nostalgic about the life of the senses in "Setting 
Out." But ultimately it is the inner life, the "one 
journey and one journey only." ("Song for a 
Voyager") which transcends proud man's brief 
authority. Just as the "morning hieroglyphics" of 

the prolonged track of the gull's foot, 

stars left by the pigeons, 

the tiny asterisks of sandpipers. 

("Hieroglyphics") are soon washed from the sand, 
so too the authority of the ancient Egyptians, 
that of their successor Sadat, and that of the poet 
are brief indeed in the span of human history. 


Too soon all become "those whom death has 
harvested" ("Advent and Eleusis"). 

It was fitting that Rebecca Pitts died in 
October; for it was autumn and its harvest transi- 
tion which symbolized dying for her, not the 
already-dead of winter. My favorite poem, 
"Meditation," ends: 

And bright leaves fall now from that 

bronzing tree, 
taking the heart with beauty as they go. 
Time will not stop for them that's plain to see, 
nor stay with us who linger, wistfully, 
while red September berries fade. And so 
we cling to Time and want Eternity. 
The bright fire fades, the coals die down, 

and we 
are soon for bed indeed, but the late glow 
has made Time seem to pause, and now I see 
what Time is for. To mean Eternity. 

Technically Pitts' poems are uneven. One 
wishes that she had lived long enough to tighten 
some of them up, the ones that rely heavily on 
prose for explanations and questioning aloud. 
With the exception of "World Sacrifice," her 
clearly political poems tend to emphasize message 
at the expense of medium. Sometimes her anger 
deteriorates into polemic, her despair into cliche. 
Some dream messages are abstruse. Her use of 
language, however, is forceful, often compelling. 
The poems have a directness and simplicity about 
them, and their images are fresh and vivid. She 
achieves the compression and imaginative 
visualization of the seasoned poet although she 
didn't begin this effort until six years before her 

The worldview presented in Brief Authority is 
profound and timely. It will be treasured especial- 
ly by feminists, environmentalists and mystics, all 
those seeking to unite the truths of a post- 
Einsteinian world with the human necessities of 
spiritual expression and freedom. Despite the 
brevity of the body of her work, this woman 
raises a voice of power, clarity and compassion. 
For these are the poems of a wise old woman. 
She deserves to be heard, to assert her brief 
authority beyond death. 

Susan Bettis is a former English teacher and professor who is 
currently a feminist scholar and lecturer. She is writing a book on 
the need to restore to contemporary culture the feminine 
metaphors and images found in worldwide mythology, religion, art 
and literature. Bettis lives in Indianapolis. 


1 Julia Kristeva, "Women's Time," Signs, VII, 1 (Autumn, 1981), 


2 Merlin Stone, When God Was A Woman, (New York: Harcourt 
Brace Jovanovich/Harvest, 1976). 

3 Margaret Atwood, Surfacing, (New York: Simon and 
Schuster, 1972). 

4 Rosemary Reuther, New V^oman New Earth, (New York: 
The Seabury Press, 1975). 




O loveliest, afloat around the sun 
in her blue bubble — her jeweled atmosphere — 
she catches the breath with her strange splendor 
seen now at last from space. 

Her mystery stupefies and stops the mind 

looking for origins; surely she has been woven 

out of the all-embracing mystery of the real. 

Call this a random universe if you must, 

for clearly a shuffled deck of cards will never 

reorder itself, and time's arrow of direction 

flies toward a distant dark and absolute zero; 

but on the way what miracle, what wonder! 

from that first flash— eternally improbable — 

that burst of Light, or Fire, through intricate ballets, 

wave-particle events that danced to form 

trillions on trillions of galaxies, then stars— 

among them ours— and her, among these planets, 

lonely, sapphire, and fragile — again ours. 

Floating, O loveliest, in her blue bubble. . . 

whose deepest mystery, however 

lies not in her sweet numinous presence here, 

nor in that first live cell, shocked into being 

somehow, by ray or lightning, but in the web 

of living forms that followed — endless variety 

woven of oneness: think how the genes of algae 

(given some difference in complexity) 

work like the snake's, the porpoise's, and ours. 

And yet, we are told, our own genetic messages 

are broken by something queer— they call it "meaningless"- 

long strips of empty intervening sequences 

science cannot decode. It just might be, however, 

that there's a blank check Nature has handed over 

to our unfinished species 

where we might write our future and the Earth's. 

Rebecca E. Pitts 

She has given us clues, hints of a living whole 
wherein no solitary form survives: 
where the cells of human bodies 
depend on micro-aliens; where green plants 
let out their cells to photosynthetic lodgers 
so that the sun may feed them and feed us 
not only food but air; where predator and prey, 
rain and rain forest, move in a strict balance. 

Then with sacrifice as companion all these peoples 
come out of mystery into the great world rite: 
aware or not (old species, like the whales, 
seem more aware than we), willing or not, 
all die for other life, live on the death of others. 
Exquisite web and fragile, man has torn you 
almost beyond repair. Long has he taken 
("winner take all") with no exchange, no giving 


back to the living wholeness. Look, now, the desert is creeping 

stealthy and sure acros the desiccated 

fields of his progress. Look how, like Nero — 

idiot Nero, who tore his mother's womb 

to see where he was got— he is still ravaging 

her depths, soiling her surface, who first received him 

into her arms. Late-born among her children. 


Now they are going 

those others 

and bewildered 

eyes that see dimly 

in pain or hunger 

search vainly 

old havens once felt as home 

not enemy territory. 

They come out of mystery 

into the arms of Earth-life 

and find 

not the old fertile embrace of life-and-death 

but only 


What can we say to you 

who are going before us? 

We cannot even sit beside you 

infant whale 

cast up on the gritty sands 

our poisons in your blood. 

We ought to be able to touch you 

with the tenderness of a grieving mother 

if we loved enough 

we might share your fading 

memories of song 

your memories 

of your own cherishing mother 

we could sing other songs to you 
our own songs of a day 
when Life was a mother. 
What can we say now 
to all who are leaving 
before us? 

How can we comfort you 
harp seal mother 
sobbing, ripped open with grief, 
where snow is red 
your once beautiful baby 
flayed utterly 
still living? 

Can we hope to persuade you 
that this was necessary 
this sacrifice 

a part of the great world rite 
this offering to a furrier's greed 
and to that deeper lust of our modern Moloch 
the death-desiring hunger 
of macho human creatures 


with their singular "rites of passage"? 

What can we ever say to you 
who are going before us? 

Out of approaching silence 
a diminished thunder 
of arriving wings 

One robin is chirping today 


on my city lawn 

where once there were ten, 

And in wilder haunts 

singers who come to feed 

linger to die 

silvery intervals 

of reed or horn 

hover and are still 

Even if we loved enough 

we could not comfort such wildness 

and the eagle 

the fierce falcon 

would spurn us rightly. 


of another music . . . 

of our vanishing freedom . . . 

in your going 

it is ourselves we mourn. 

Must we say to you, 

"We can live without birds?" 


A long procession 


they leave us now 

those great perfected species. 

True, they have always been going 

but they have gone slowly 

fading into the flux of the future 

always to be replaced 

by those who restored the balance. 

If they killed it was only for need 

and the lion walked harmless near the herd 

when he had no hunger. 

Now in their silent departure 

they look back 

they wait a little 

the great sequoias withering 

the rain forests dying 

and a long sigh seems to tremble 

on the polluted air 

a question they who present it 

may never understand 

nor this victorious species . . . 


Oh, when will you be finished? 

What have you given? 

What did you ever have to give? 


Species more lethal than the tiger 

but far less beautiful 

can the murderous spawn of your cities 

replace that fearful symmetry 

with another less terrible 

but just as perfect? 

Your tanks are more powerful 

than the great gray elephant 

but they have never moved 

with his lumbering grace 

they are not directed by his wisdom. 

You have fingers 

which the dolphins have not 

and fingers create writing 

and technology 

but can your vaunted structures 

of social organization 

equal the playful intelligent harmony 

of this finer species 

the compassion the Confucian good manners 

the hatred of falsehood 
the subtle effectiveness in education 
the delicate interpersonal complexities 
the love without guilt and fear? 

We were not here only 

for an organic balance 

for the fertility of Earth 

we were here also for a deeper reason 

you have not fathomed. 

Oh, when will you be finished? 


Shall we then say to you 
who are going before us: 

We too have shared in the 
great world rite. 

True, we have killed 

but only for need. 

We needed the earth 

and we took it. 

We were told, so we thought, to be fruitful 

and we were 

(look at those towers, those arsenals of steel and information) 

and to multiply 

Oh, how we did 

(those millions of gaunt 

bloat-bellied hollow-eyed 


We needed the earth 

and we took it. 

Now we no longer need you. 

Before long science will feed us. 

But we know all that to be falsehood. 

We were also "told" (and somehow we knew it) 

to replenish the Earth 

and there were other possible choices 

not made 


for reasons we need not go into 


There were roads not taken 

not this unending 

ever-widening asphalt 

but roads wandering away from 

all this desert 

into a green freedom 

half wilderness 

Go then and tell them 

who have vanished before you 

into the dim fastnesses 

of a darker garden 

tell them 

the irreplaceable 

who wait for you 

that in truth we no longer need you 

as sacrifice. 

Soon science will feed us 

more than we hoped for. 

Tell them who wait for you 

and for us 

yes, and for Her 

floating, O loveliest, around the sun 

tell them 

we are almost finished. 

Rebecca E. Pitts 


Mary Cassatt, The Letter, 1891 




Elizabeth Lindsay 

Mary Cassatt was born in 1844 in Allegheny 
City, Pennsylvania. She died in 1926 at her 
Chateau de Beaufresne, Mesnil-Theribus, France. 
Cassatt remained an American, but accomplish- 
ed her major work in France. As Eleanor Munro 
proposes, in Originals: American Women Artists 
(1979), Cassatt was, as the age demanded, a 
"proper lady," who took as one of her most 
important themes the depiction of mother and 
child; was primly repulsed by the goings-on at 
Gertrude Stein's salon, and yet, in her later 
years, espoused socialism and women's suffrage. 1 
She never married, intending instead to devote 
all her energy to her art. During what might 
have been her most productive years, however, 
she found herself responsible for much of the care 
of her invalid sister and an aging mother. 

This dichotomy is reflected in her work. The 
earlier oils are admirable: well-drawn and com- 
petently painted. But it was in her meticulous 
print-making that Cassatt came into her own. 
She seemed to thrive on its technical difficulty. 

Critical appraisal of Cassatt's work has also been 
divided. There are those who insist that, without 
her close association with the Paris Impres- 
sionists, she never would have come up with 
inspiration for her works at all. She herself 
admitted to a fascination with Correggio's 
mother-and-child paintings, which she studied in 
Italy. Like many of her contemporaries, she was 
excited by the torrid canvases of Velazquez. She 
also is known to have admired Rubens, Manet, 
and Courbet. 

Jean Lipman and Helen M. Franc, in Bright Stars: 
American Painting and Sculpture Since 1776 (1976), 
credit Cassatt with 

a vigorous, independent personality . . . 
her paintings were differentiated in several 
respects from those of the other Impressionists. 
Her forms remained solid, not dissolved by 
color and light, and a certain adherence to 
naturalism gave her art a distinctively 
American flavor. 2 

Cassatt, it would seem, despite being an anomaly 
as a person, and perhaps, as an artist, somehow 
retained a sense of American practicality. 

The Editors of Art in America, in The Artist in 
America (1967), describe her paintings of mothers 
and children as "full of charm and sentiment." 3 
Richard McLanathan, in The American Tradition 

in the Arts (1968), referring to the same paintings, 
finds they are "Pictures of great charm . . . devoid 
of sentimentality . . . based upon an objective 
realism of form and a quiet awareness of 
individual personality." 4 

What Cassatt did share wholeheartedly with her 
fellow Impressionists, was an enthusiasm for the 
Japanese woodcut prints. Her admiration 
culminated in the most difficult and rewarding 
task of her career. The way she translated these 
prints into her own exacting language is describ- 
ed by Colta Feller Ives in The Great Wave (1974): 

As she transplanted Ukiyo-e bathers and 
kimonoed mothers to French boudoirs, 
Cassatt converted the medium of the Japanese 
color woodcut to the processes she knew best: 
using metal plates instead of woodblocks, she 
drew in drypoint over broad soft-ground 
etching lines; the colors were applied by hand 
to an aquatint ground. Sometimes, like the 
Japanese, Cassatt had to prepare additional 
plates in order to align varied colors and 
patterns in the same picture. Printing the 
plates was a monumental task. 5 

Cassatt not only incorporated Japanese aspects 
into her art, but did her best to replicate the very 
form in which the Ukiyo-e art had been publish- 
ed. She made the form her own, and, in the 
process, produced her most original and 
satisfying work. 

It was almost inevitable that the Impressionists 
should be drawn to the Japanese woodcuts. 
According to Margaret Gentles, in Masters of the 
Japanese Print (1964), these prints had their 
"beginnings in the earlier genre screen and scroll 
paintings concerning the joy of life." 6 They 
depicted scenes of everyday activities and 
amusements, subjects esteemed by the 

Before 1854, Japanese art had been rare in 
Europe, until Matthew Perry's renewed trade 
brought, first, the popular decorative arts to 
European attention. Prints began showing up as 
extraneous packing material, as cushions for 
more highly-prized objects. It was 1867, at the 
Paris Universal Exposition, Ives says, when the 
French were introduced to the "first formal 
exhibition of Japanese art. . .Woodcut prints. . . 
remained the special province of the 
avant-garde." 7 

Woodblock printing had been introduced into 
Japan from China, along with Buddhism, ten 
centuries before. Toshi Yoshida and Rei Yuki, in 
Japanese Print Making (1966), explain that during 
the Edo period (1603-1867), anonymously illus- 



As early as 1856, according to Ives, the etcher 
Bracquemond shared a book of Hokusai's Manga, 
'sketches', with Manet. And in the 1860s, the 
famous Goncourts' Journals made frequent 
references to Japanese art. In 1883, Louis Gonse 
published a two-volume edition of L'Art 
Japonais. 11 In 1890, the Ecole des Beaux- Arts 
exhibited "more than a thousand prints and 
illustrated books from private collections." 12 

Manet was the first to respond in his paintings to 
the flatness of the Japanese prints. 13 While Degas, 
in 1868, showed an oriental wall-hanging in his 
portrait of James Tissot, his Japanese borrowings 
were usually more subtly implied in his "use of 
line, the daring foreshortenings, and unusual 
organization of space. . . [from] about 1875." His 
use of two figures, rather than the more usual 
three, may have been inspired by Haranobu's 
woodcuts. 14 Degas's cropping of parts of figures, 
rather than an influence from Japanese prints, 
was probably an outgrowth of his interest in 
photography. 15 

Although the Ukiyo-e prints undoubtedly 
influenced Cassatt's earlier work, it was not until 
she came upon the work of Utamaro at the 1890 
exhibition, that she knew she had found a 
kindred spirit. It was then that she began her 
series of ten aquatints, as Ives tells us. 

Mary Cassatt, The Bath, 1891 

trated literature paralleled the rise of the mer- 
chant class. Out of this literature grew the ezoshi, 
or picture book. In 1632, a single sheet from one 
of these books was published in black and white. 
By 1700, a few colors were being applied to the 
prints with a brush, and several decades later, 
lacquer was added for special effect on parts of 
the picture, to make these parts stand out. In 
1745, with the invention of the kento, which 
allowed for exact positioning of paper on the 
block, colors were applied during printing, and 
the resulting print was a benizuri-e, or 'a picture 
with crimson'. The culmination of ukiyo-e, the 
nishiki-e, or 'brocade picture', was perfected by 
Harunobu Suzuki in 1765, and used a series of 
blocks, and hosho, a paper tough enough to 
withstand numerous impressions. 8 

Ukiyo-e means 'pictures of the floating world', 
and Yoshida and Yuki say that the technique 
responsible for its beauty is passed from genera- 
tion to generation. Many specially-made tools are 
required, and only the most accomplished artists 
are ever allowed to carve the more exacting 
details onto the blocks. 9 

Kitagawa Utamaro, A Mother Bathing Her Son, 18th century 


Utamaro's intimate treatment of motherly love 
immediately endeared his art to Cassatt. No 
artist of the Ukiyo-e school handled scenes of 
parent/child relationship more sympathetically 
than he . . . Cassatt first approached the 
mother/child theme via Correggio; she 
introduced it in her drypoint sketches about 
1889. But not until her encounter with 
Utamaro's prints was her handling of the sub- 
ject fully realized. . .She copied Utamaro's 
themes, his compositions, his colors, even 
some of his wispy-haired oriental heads. She 
also borrowed the print format Utamaro 
generally used, the upright oban, about fifteen 
by ten inches. As a result, her color aquatints 
were larger than most contemporary French 
prints. 16 

Cassatt's The Tub 17 and Utamaro's A Mother 
Bathing Her Son ls both show basically plain, 
unadorned backgrounds, and Cassatt's only 
indication of depth is in a short line separating 
wall from floor. The Japanese wooden tub has 
been converted to a ceramic container by 
Cassatt. The angle of the mothers' bodies is 
almost the same in both prints, although Cassatt 
does not allow her mother quite the same 
awkwardness of pose; nor does her child show 



Mary Cassatt, Young Woman, 1891 

Mary Cassatt, The Coiffure, 1891 

any evidence of almost comic duress, as does 

Cassatt's Maternal Caress 19 seems much warmer, 
less studied, and more relaxed. In it, she uses the 
same approximate colors as Utamaro's Mother 
and sleepy child 20 , except that Cassatt's black of 
the mother's hair is less intense. Both mothers 
incline forward, holding sleepy children, but 
Cassatt's woman is seated in a chair, delicately 
slipcovered, and the child is tenderly embraced 
close to the mother's body. Utamaro's mother is 
cradling a child, too, but in outstretched arms, 
away from her body. Cassatt includes in her 
print a drapery, in the same pattern as the chair's 
cover, just behind and aside from the mother's 
inclined head; Utamaro shows a plain, single- 
stitched drapery behind the mother's head, also 
mimicing the angle of the head's slant. Cassatt's 
mother wears a gown of flowered fabric which 
drapes softly, much as the silken kimona in 
Utamaro's print. "The prevalence of all-over 
floral patterns in her work of the 1890s," says 
Frederick A. Sweet in Miss Mary Cassatt (1966), 
"is due in some measure to the influence of 
Indian and Persian art." 21 Cassatt was known to 
have collected Persian miniatures, as well as 


Japanese prints. 

Cassatt's Woman Bathing 12 and The Coiffure 2i 
both include mirrors, and each shows a woman's 
back and nape of neck which the Japanese, 
according to Ives, "thought. . .her most ex- 
pressive and appealing physical features." 24 
Degas, also, had used similar themes as early as 
the 1870s. 

The Letter 25 is almost a literal translation of the 
pose of Utamaro's Portrait of the oiran Hinzauru 26 . 
In her westernized version, Cassatt has filled in 
the background with a writing desk and flowered 
wallpaper, but it is somewhat ironic that her 
gentlewoman holds paper to her lips in the same 
gesture "often seen," says Harold P. Stern in 
Master Prints of ]apan (1969), "in erotic Japanese 
prints and paintings to indicate the boredom of 
the prostitute while the sexual act is taking 
place." 27 What a remarkable transfiguration of 
artistic ideas! 

Although Cassatt made occasional forays into 
printmaking into the late 1890s, she never again 
achieved the polished excellence of her series of 
ten aquatints. What she had learned from her 
intimate relationship with Japanese prints re- 
mained. The Boating Party 28 , 1893/94, shows her 
moving away from Impressionism in her painting. 
It retains the Japanese influence, not in its bold 
colors as much as in its foreshortening and 
strong composition. As late as 1909, in the oil 
Antoinette at her Dressing Table 29 , Cassatt employs 
Utamaro's favorite mirrors, subdued colors, shim- 
mering folds of gown and downcast eyes of the 
subject. And, as in so many of her works, there is 
barely a hint of shadow. 

Cassatt, like many of her contemporaries, turned 
the mundane scenes of everyday life into art. 
That her everyday existence was bourgeoise was 
no fault of hers. She was on intimate terms with 
her subjects, but in her portrayals, she never 
patronized them. She never stepped beyond the 
bounds of decorum to invade their privacy. 

Elizabeth Lindsay (b. 1933) is a recent graduate of Mankato 
State University. A poet and writer, she paints wild, improbable 
watercolors to free the creative angels, and is hopelessly addicted 
to women's art history. 


'Eleanor Munro, Originals: American Women Artists New York: 
Simon and Schuster, 1979, pp. 59-74. 

2 Jean Lipman and Helen M. Franc, Bright Stars: American Painting 

and Sculpture Since 1776 New York: E.P. Dutton, 1976, p. 93. 

^The Artist in America, compiled by the Editors of Art in America 

New York: W.W. Norton, 1967, p. 119. 

''Richard McLanathan, The American Tradition in the Arts New 

York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968, p. 327. 

'Colta Feller Ives, The Great Wave New York: Metropolitan 

Museum of Art, 1974, p. 45. 

''Margaret Gentles, Masters of the Japanese Print Netherlands: The 
Asia Society, 1964, pp. 1 3, 14. 

7 Ives, p. 11. 

8 Toshi Yoshida and Rei Yuki, Japanese Print-Making Rutland, Vt.: 

Charles E. Tuttle, 1966, pp. 19, 20. 

'Yoshida and Yuki, pp. 25-50. 

10 Ives, p. 12. 

"Ives, pp. 12, 13. 

12 Ives, p. 14. 

"Ives, p. 17. 

14 Ives, pp. 34, 35. 

l5 Ives, pp. 38, 39. 

16 Ives, p. 46. 

"Mary Cassatt, The Tub. Drypoint, soft-ground etching, and 

aquatint, eleventh state; printed in color; from a series of ten. 1891. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 16.2.7. Ives, p. 46. 

18 Kitagawa Utamaro, 1753-1806, A Mother Bathing Her Son, Oban, 

nishiki-e, mica on the bottom, 14 7 / e " x 10 '/ 8 ". Nelson-Atkins Gallery, 

Kansas City, Missouri (Nelson Fund). Published in Harold P. Stern, 

Master Prints of japan New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1969, p. 210. 

"Mary Cassatt, Maternal Caress. Drypoint, soft-ground etching and 

aquatint, third estate; printed in color; from a series often. 1891. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 16.2.5. Ives, p. 48. 

20 Kitagawa Utamaro, 1753-1806, Mother and sleepy child: midnight, 

the hour of the rat. Color woodcut from the series Customs of 

Women in Twelve Hours. About 1795. The Metropolitan Museum 

of Art. Rogers Fund, 1922. no. 1278. Ives, p. 49. 

2l Frederick A. Sweet, Miss Mary Cassatt Norman: University of 

Oklahoma Press, 1966, p. 116. 

"Mary Cassatt, Woman Bathing. Drypoint, soft-ground etching, and 

aquatint, fifth state; printed in color; from a series often. 1891. The 

Metropolitan Museum of Art. 16.2.2. Ives, p. 55. 

2, Mary Cassatt, The Coiffure. Drypoint, soft-ground etching, and 

aquatint, fourth state; printed in color; from a series often. 1891. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 16.2.3. Ives, p. 54. 

24 Ives, p. 41. 

"Mary Cassatt, The Letter. Drypoint, soft-ground etching, and 

aquatint, third state; printed in color; from a series of ten. 1891. 

The Metropolitan Museum of Art. 16.2.9. Ives, p. 52. 

26 Kitagawa Utamaro, 1733-1806, Portrait of the oiran Hinzauru. Color 

woodcut. About 1796. Art Institute of Chicago. Ives, p. 53. 

27 Harold P. Stern, Master Prints of ]apan New York: Harry N. 

Abrams, 1969, p. 222. 

28 Mary Cassatt, The Boating Party, 1893/94. Oil on canvas, 35'/2" x 

46'/ 8 ". National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. Chester Dale 

Collection, 1962. E. John Bullard, Mary Cassatt New York: 

Watson-Guptill Publications, 1972, p. 56. 

"Mary Cassatt, Antoinette at Her Dressing Table, 1909. Oil on 

canvas, 36'/2" x 28'/2", Collection of Mrs. Samuel E. Johnson, 

Chicago, Illinois. Bullard, p. 80. 


The Artist in America. Compiled by the The Editors of Art in 

America. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1967. 
Bullard, E. John. Mary Cassatt: Oils and Pastels. New York: Watson- 
Guptill Publications, 1972. 
Gentles, Margaret. Masters of the Japanese Print: Moronby to 

Utamaro. The Netherlands: The Asia Society, Inc., 1964. 
Ives, Colta Feller. The Great Wave: The Influence of Japanese 

Woodcuts on French Prints. New York: The Metropolitan Museum 

of Art, 1974. 
Lipman, Jean and Helen M. Frank. Bright Stars: American Painting 

and Sculpture Since 1776. New York: E.P. Dutton and Company, 

McLanathan, Richard. The American Tradition in the Arts. New 

York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1968. 
Munro, Eleanor. Originals: American Women Artists. New York: 

Simon and Schuster, 1979. 
Stern, Harold P. Master Prints of Japan: Ukiyo-e Hanga. New York: 

Harry N. Abrams, 1969. 
Sweet, Frederick A. Miss Mary Cassatt: Impressionist from 

Pennsylvania. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1966. 
Yoshida, Toshi and Rei Yuki. Japanese Print-Making: A Handbook of 

Traditional and Modern Techniques. Rutland, Vermont: Charles 

E. Tuttle Company, 1966. 


Mary Cassatt, In the Omnibus, 1891 




Marguerite O. Hanselman 

Lois pawed at the clump of underwear and socks 
lying in the bottom of the dryer. Two loads a 
day, day in and day out, but some loads were 
easier than others. Jeans weren't bad; after they 
dried, there were only five or six of them to fold 
but underwear and socks were another story. On 
top of the linty dryer were piles of socks, all 
single— some new, some old but all the socks had 
the distinction of being unmatched, alone. 

Lois gritted her teeth and pulled out the worm's 
nest of socks. Yesterday, she had searched the 
house for single socks— under the dryer, under 
the laundry chute, even in the kid's drawers but 
it had been no use. Somehow, somewhere, one 
half of socks for four people disappeared into the 
bowels of the house, never to be seen again. 

Perhaps she should ignore this load, let it sit 
there, all hot and fragrant. Perhaps the missing 
socks would magically appear when she returned 
back to the laundry room. But it was a cold and 
dreary day. She had no excuse. The laundry 
must be washed and folded or tomorrow, she 
would be a load behind and wouldn't be able to 
go to lunch with her friends. 

It must have been her lucky day because five 
pairs of socks matched up automatically. The pes- 
ty socks seemed to be lying next to each other, 
for a change. The remaining single socks were 
lumpy and heavy, as if they weren't fully dry. 
Lois hesitated. Why should she be going through 
this torture every day when other women were 
out in the marketplace making thousands of 
dollars and doing important things? 

But Lois reminded herself of her responsibilities 
and dug into her chore — trying to match up fif- 
teen pairs of socks that had no mate. Her pile of 
socks on top of the dryer never got smaller, only 
bigger with each load. Lois closed her eyes as she 
fingered the lump of socks. Omigod, Lois 
thought, Jeff left another piece of candy in his 
pockets and it has oozed all over the socks. 
Disgusting! Lois thought as she anticipated the 
gooey mess she would have to clean up. But it 
wasn't a jawbreaker. It was an ear. . .a human 
ear. That seemed strange to Lois because she may 
have lost many socks in the past, she couldn't 
recall anyone missing an ear. The dryer had caus- 
ed the ear to dry up so it looked like a withered 
piece of cauliflower. Not at all repugnant. . .not 
like when Lois found a petrified frog in Jeffs jean 
pocket. That really was disgusting. Lois gingerly 

placed the ear on top of the single sock pile and 
hoped it would go away while she finished 
folding the rest of the underwear. Actually, she 
didn't fold underwear, she just sort of laid them 
in piles. Her mother-in-law ironed underwear. 
Meanwhile, perhaps the ear would disappear and 
be gone when she came downstairs to do laundry 

It was probably all a bad dream. 

On Tuesday, the next day, Lois focused 
everywhere but at that poor ear. It was darkening 
now, resembling a piece of beef jerky. Lois had 
"found lots of those in the kids' pockets. Funny 
thing tho'— after the jerky was washed, it 
plumped up like real meat. 


Today's load was a snap, just shirts and colored 
stuff so maybe there wouldn't be the frustration 
of sorting unmatched socks. Lois was almost to 
the bottom of the grey cavern of the dryer. It was 
dark inside there because there was only a single 
bulb hanging from the basement utility room 
ceiling. Again, today, there was something lumpy 
in the bottom of dryer. This lump was too big to 
be wrapped inside a single sock. She reached 
deep inside. Lois closed her hand around 
something that seemed familiar. In fact, it seemed 
like someone was shaking her hand. Not having 
been out in public for awhile, she couldn't 
remember what shaking hands felt like. But the 
sensation persisted. She withdrew her arm but 
that clinging thing came out with her hand. In 
fact, it was a hand, neatly curled around her 
own. Lois didn't figure it was worth screaming 
about; why scream when no one could hear you? 
She had more serious thinking to do. She didn't 
even notice that there was only one single sock 
in the whole load. Why should a human hand 
and an ear be in her dryer? Her kids and her 
husband hurried in and out of her life, dawn and 
evening. They seemed perfectly normal. They 
were certainly not missing any body parts ... or 
were they? 

Lois placed the now black ear and the wrinkled 
hand in a plastic baggie and placed the bag on 
the floor of the freezer. At supper, she confronted 
her family. 

"Well, kids, are any of you doing any science 
experiments these days?" Lois asked. 

The kids stared at their mother and continued 
chewing their Hamburger Helper Casserole. Lois 
thought they shook their heads. 

"Honey, have you been bringing home work 
from the office recently?" Her husband tore off a 
piece of home-baked bread and pondered it. 

"What's the problem, Lois? Your time of the 
month?" He turned his gaze back to the kitchen 
under-the-counter TV. The newscaster said there 
had been a train wreck. 

The next day, Lois almost decided not to do 
laundry. There couldn't possibly be a baggie of 
body parts in her freezer and she perhaps was 
suffering from hormonal changes she didn't even 
know about. But three active teenage boys and a 
messy husband required that she return to her 
basement laundry room. The latest load of wash 
was clunking and thumping down there in the 
dark. Lois pulled the light chain and geared up 
for the sock marathon. The sorting was unevent- 
ful and the last sock was lying inside, nestled on 
the shelf of the dryer. Lois grunted in triumph. It 
was an argyle sock she had been trying to match 
for weeks. But the sock felt strangly heavy. Lois 

groaned. Why couldn't her life be hum-drum like 
everyone else's? She would never complain again. 

When she pulled out the argyle sock, a very 
expensive sock, a gift from the in-laws, she 
suspected the inevitable. It bulged. The sock and 
whatever was inside smelled like the softener 
sheets Lois so carefully inserted with every load. 
The toe of the sock was the shape of a large 
grapefruit. Lois went through her mental laundry 
inventory of what that bulge could be— an applet 
a yo-yo, maybe a can of tuna hijacked out of her 

Since this sock had been missing for so long, Lois 
thought maybe she should just throw it out, like 
she did with all the single socks after four months 
of singlehood. 

But she pulled open the sock and peered inside. 
There was a head inside. It didn't look like 
anyone Lois knew. But then it was rather 
distorted. Lois had seen heads like that at the 
country fair — shrunken heads from the jungle. 
Perhaps an hour in Lois' sophisticated dryer 
would make any head look shrunken. She placed 
the sock with the head still inside the plastic bag- 
gie, now almost full with an ear and a hand. 
Lois, being a logical type of housewife, supposed 
she ought to check if the head was missing an ear 
but she didn't. 

Instead, she pushed, with her foot, the pile of 
dirty clothes back into the corner, under the oil 
tank. She shut the basement door and walked 
upstairs to her bedroom. She took out a suitcase 
and pulled some basic and matched items from 
her drawers. She had the strangest sensations. 
She couldn't seem to hear and her left hand felt 
numb. Despite her handicaps, she locked her 
bulging suitcase and left the house. Walking 
down the quiet, tree-lined street, she rubbed her 
aching head. She was through sorting socks. 

Marguerite Hanselman lives in Clarklake, Minnesota. She has 
published articles in the health field, short stories and has had 
two radio plays produced. 




Peppermint papers dance 
along a battered stone street 
Traffic cross-catches the evening sun 
Flash after flash of a day that's done- 
Somewhere a child starts to run 
Along this papery breeze 
Holding a song in his throat 
Note after bouncing note: 
Little feet bare on the stone 
Suddenly he knows he's alone 
Watches the fire-glass flash 
Twilight against the dark cars. 
So we sit while the day gets done 
It's something like victory 
Finding peace 
On the other side 
Of a rushing street . . . 

Maya Khosla 

Shall we bring 

Some of spring 

Inside, today? 

While pinched lips try 

To whistle of swallows 

And timeless feet wander 

The slips of green . . . 

Shall we fist these puffs of pink today 

Smoking on every tree 

Or lose ourselves in a soft 

Stone city 

Wandering bare feet? 

Shall we sit watching windows 

Play mirrors that never stay the same 

Or just wait? 


This blues comes through in the afternoon. 

Ray Charles don't know about it. 

It's for women, 

tender women full of too much . . . 

Ray Charles don't know about it. 

Silk harmonicas wail in the snowless street. 

Warm, grinning women full of too much 


Silk harmonicas wail in the snowless street, 

And on the playground I watch endlessly 


Someone else's daycare child spins away. 

And on the playground I watch infinite games. 
This afternoon blues comes. 

Someone's wounded daycare child spins into my arms. 
Warm, grinning woman full of too much. Yearning. 

Judy Katz-Levine 

Maya Khosla 




Snow has brushed out all the fences, 
the nearest wood is all I know, 
the wood itself is strange, inhabited 
by silences. 

Cattails spring from white banks in tandem. 

Crows pulse into the white sky, 

and a rising wind lifts 

a swallow flock of dead leaves 

to skim and soar above the creekbed. 

I walk down to the birch cluster 

at the far clearing, where the thin light 

of a winter sun gathers 

to focus a pure radiance in the white bark. 

I follow the puncture of a small deer's leap 
a frozen mark of flight 
riddling the snow, a weight of presence 
in the small hollow. 

Somewhere away, havened, 
eyes leafy in the wavering light, 
perhaps int he brush of a fallen birch, 
the quick heart beats. 

Ruth B. Thornton 

■••• .•- •■•^ •••v.- : "-\ 



I had my hair cut today, my ragged 
mane, weighing me down like a bundle 
of lies and gossip. I sat still 
like a good girl while Richard lifted 
the tangles from my neck and listened 
to my stories of broken hearts, 
his scissors clicking like commas 
and dashes, the blades kissing 
my neck as the brown ribbons fell 
loose through his fingers. 

I left my surgeon standing in the rubble 

of my weaknesses. Cleansed 

of all those secrets I needed 

to lose, I walked away clean 

in my new cap, the skin of my neck 

cool in the breeze, my shoulders 

wearing the new strength of the sun. 

Jennifer Whitney 


Trees rise like the ghosts 
of cathedral domes, and in the perfect 
sky one cloud moves, a camel 
crossing the desert alone. 

After years of tests in gray 

and white and observations 

noted on cool surfaces 

of the mind — tablets bordered with 

silver and black — after decades 

of brown study, I realize I have 

no idea what holds a cloud together. 

"Gravity. Or spinning inertial 
confinement," one brain cell says. 

"A dark rule of the imagination 
of God," says another. 

"The tenuous orbits of words 
you never hear," say the clouds. 

Jennifer Whitney 



She was no longer young the year we met. 

Her hair was grey and she wore grey pants and 

a baggy sweater, but her eyes laughed and her 

hands were never still. "You must fall in love 

with the clay," she said, and she fell on it 

with the strength of anger, pummeled it about, 

then her violence turned to tenderness and she 

stroked eyes into life on the dead lump. A 

face was groping up out of the mud like 

the first salamander forsaking the waters. "I've 

been at it for thirty years," she said, "since my student 

days abroad, and I sometimes think I'm beginning 

to master the basics." The woman journalist asked 

if she ever felt that she had missed fulfillment, 

being unmarried and childless. And she laughed. 

Gail White 


It was a partnership at first: 

he did research, she typed it. 

She was great at footnotes, 

perfect in bibliographies. 

When he got his degree she sat 

in the audience and smiled like a city 

lit up at night. 

In his book she had her sentence 

in the introduction 

about the invaluable assistance 

of his wife. 

She called it their joint work: 

he got the credit. 

He continues to do research, 

reads, writes, gives papers: 

her job now is admiration 

since he can afford paid typists. 

She lies in bed at night 

and the footnotes scamper through her thoughts: 

ibid, op cit, pace. 

She would go to school again — 

but everyone would be so young 

and her powers of concentration 

are not what they were. 

Ibid, op cit, pace, vide: 

the small feet trampled her 

on their way to the sea. 

Gail White 

Gail White lives in New Orleans 

Jennifer Whitney lives on a farm near Joelton, Tennessee. 

Ruth Thornton is from Fresno, California. 

Judy Katz Levine lives in Roslindale, Massachusetts. 

Maya Khosla, from India, is a graduate student at Duke 
University in Durham, North Carolina. 



Walter S. Feldman 

Recent studies tend to establish the charge that 
sexual bias against women in the courts is 
rampant. A task force sponsored by the Judiciary 
in New York and New Jersey recently indicated 
that women who are involved in the legal system 
as lawyers, court personnel or litigants suffer a 
variety of affronts which range from personal 
humiliation to unequal status and inequitable 
verdicts. The two-year study by the judicial 
system of New York recently published indicates 
that many courts mishandle women and their 
problems. The survey revealed that male judges 
and court personnel often fail to understand rape 
and its implications, and today despite the 
widespread education and documentation fre- 
quently assign blame to the victim rather than to 
the criminal. In many cases involving divorce, 
child support and property settlements, judges 
repeatedly fail to recognize the wife's contribution 
to the marriage and this results in verdicts which 
are inequitable. The enforcement of child support 
awards is lax in many jurisdictions. Courtroom 
personnel, including other attorneys, judges and 
bailiffs, often display rude and callous behavior 
toward women, and many women, even attorneys 
as well as litigants, are frequently subjected to 
sexist and demeaning remarks and indeed are 
often not taken seriously by judges and other 
personnel in the courtroom. The road to employ- 
ment and promotion for women especially those 
involved in the legal system, is often strewn with 
sexist obstacles. 

Despite the Supreme Court rulings and other 
verdicts outlawing gender bias in the workplace, 
many women continue to describe sex as a barrier 
to important administrative appointments and to 
full participation in the practice of law. In many 
cases, they are thwarted in their efforts to achieve 
partnership status, to receive advancements, and 
fail to obtain opportunities to fully participate as 
professionals. Despite numerous and repeated 
efforts in this direction, women in key posts are 
far below the number which would appropriately 
reflect their expertise and value. Gender bias in 
the judicial system is widespread and this merely 
reflects bias in society as a whole. 

The courts should provide an example and a 
solution, not a reflection of the problem. This 
problem must be faced and resolved. Sexual 
stereotyping is the major cause of the problem. It 
contaminates the entire court process and 
impairs the administration of justice. The result 

is a systematic devaluation of women. Not only is 
it demeaning, demoralizing, and unjust, but 
inefficient and costly. 

The need to confront gender bias is essential and 
urgent. Presently Wisconsin and Florida, as well 
as Massachusetts, are establishing formal pro- 
grams to combat sex discrimination in the courts; 
these will result in imposed legal and regulatory 
procedures. A more enduring solution however 
will require information or knowledge. Only then 
can this problem appropriately be resolved. 

Twenty states are presently studying this subject 
and this was the focus of a discussion at the joint 
annual meeting of the Conference of State Chief 
Justices and State Court Administrators in 
Omaha, Nebraska in August. Law schools are 
beginning to look at the problem and are pre- 
senting classroom discussions as well as the 
results of professional research in this area. The 
number of women law graduates and faculty 
members is steadily rising, and this too is a 
significant factor. Soon to be published in the 
journal of Legal Education will be a study which 
details the bias and the portrayal of women by 
leading criminal justices and in textbooks used by 
most law students. Urgently needed at this time 
is a broadbased program to combat sexism in 
general, but specifically in the judicial system. 
This will require education, a blueprint for 
upgraded recruitment and promotion, and a 
method for monitoring and interceding in cases 
of established bias. This is not strictly a court 
issue or just a female gender issue, but one which 
reflects a problem of society as a whole. 

Dr. Feldman, psychiatrist and attorney, lives in Charlotte, hlorth 
Carolina. His article "Women's Liberation: Ten Years Later" 
appeared in this magazine in Summer 1983. 




Five successful workshops highlighted the 
weekend of Samhain (All Hallows): photography, 
ceramics, writing, drawing and therapeutic 
massage. The Fall air was cool, the lake too cold 
for swimming, but the fires burned bright in the 
fireplace and on the beach. Participants 
unanimously proclaimed their delight in their 
explorations, sometimes breaking through 
obstacles and blocks to new and satisfying 
ground. Three participants have shared their 
experience here: Barbara Jenkins displays her 
photography done with workshop leader Peggy 

Stevens, Sally Petrilli describes her experience in 
the writing workshop with leader Julie Siegel, 
and Suzanne Oliver gives us a report on what 
happened with her in the drawing workshop 
with Deborah Purdy. 

The natural beauty of the setting, the talents and 
expertise of the women gathered together there, 
combined to evoke cries of "Let's do it again!" 

Readers who want to join in a similar weekend in 
May 1988 should let us know as soon as possible, 
to help us plan. 

Peggie Stevens, and Meryl Abensohn and I went out early the first day on a shoot. 


Photography by Barbara Jenkins 

Sunset on Lake Michigan — a quick shot before we ran back to learn to 
develop, print and enlarge prints. 

I found some mushrooms, leaves and grasses below an oak tree. 


The Forest Beach YWCA Creativity 
Weekend: A Personal View 

Sally Petrilli 

At the beginning of a painting session with a 
group of sixth grade children, Andre said, 
"Everything I paint is ugly." and refused to 
participate. A perceptive teacher challenged him 
by saying, "I'll bet you can't paint something 
REALLY ugly!". "Yes I can", he shot back. We 
were videotaping these children for a television 
course and we watched in fascination as Andre's 
pictures got better and better and his enthusiasm 
mounted. With a time-to-stop announcement he 
said with great excitement, "Give me more paper. 
I can do another one fast." 

I thought of Andre at the moment that I realized 
there was only a short time left to finish what I 
was working on for Julie Siegel's creative writing 
workshop. I too had been challenged and I needed 
more time. I had begun the weekend with the 
feeling that "I can't really do this." As a writer of 
study guides, scripts, content outlines, business 
letters and memos, I was feeling very out-of- 
context and somewhat vulnerable. Also barren. 
The hours of empty pages did not seem to 
discourage Julie. She played music, read poetry, 
took us for long walks through the Fall woods 
and along the deserted beach. Finally, from a 
stack of post cards we chose images of women 
from which we were to describe connections. I 
chose a picture of two Belgian women walking 
along a wharf and another of two Moroccan 
women and laboriously, after ten pages of 
rewrites, produced a poem. 


Amy and I on an afternoon off— 

the housework finished, the silver polished — 

free, in this sun-filled time 

to walk together down to the wharf. 

In a small cafe we talk and sip bitter coffee. 

Wandering in and out of the quiet, dimly 

lit shops, 
our laughter fills the tangy sea air. 

The swarthy young men on the Moroccan ship 
newly arrived from across the sea 
pause and glance at us. We linger there 
watching them haul in the heavy lines 
and we talk of the women in that distant land. 
The veiled Moroccan women, moving silently 
through the hot, dusty streets wild with color — 
enveloped in their heavy robes. 

As the sky begins to darken, we draw away 
buttoning our brown cloth coats against 

the chill. 
And turning reluctantly toward our evening 

we too are silent. 



When I realized that what seemed extremely 
unlikely could actually happen, I was ready to 
write. The weekend was winding down and we 
were all meeting to share our experiences as I 
hurried to complete the last assignment. 
Photographers were developing last minute 
prints, the drawing class had filled the walls of 
the lodge with their work, the massagers were 
resting their fingers and the writers were going to 
read. In some degree I suspect that we all met a 
few challenges that weekend. Like Andre, 
perhaps we grew a little too. 

A Breakthrough 

Suzanne Oliver 

First of all, I thought, I don't like groups of 
women. I didn't want to go to the creativity 
weekend. 1 mumbled and grumbled to myself as I 
packed the car and drove off to pick up a friend 
who was going to ride with me. I kept thinking 
why am I doing this? Why can't I learn to say no? 
Why? Why? Why? 

As we drove through the night I felt a little less 
reluctant and a small sense of adventure started 
to set in. However 1 would still have chosen not 
to do, what I was about to do. 

My first response as we arrived at the setting was 
still unsettling, disjointed and the opening 
introductions felt awkward to me. But the food 
was good and slowly as the evening unwound I 
began to feel that it was quite okay to be there 
and that perhaps 1 would even have a good time. 

By Saturday morning I realized what my problem 
had been. I had forgotten something very impor- 
tant. And that is that women are wonderful. And 
when you put a group of them together in search 
of creativity, you've got the potential for magic. 
And that's what I found at our creativity retreat. 
I found magic. 

There was magic in the fact that within a few 
hours on Saturday morning I felt bonded to the 
women in my group. We had laughed and cried. 
We had shared some secrets not told to anyone 
in a while, maybe never. We were vulnerable to 
each other. We were open. We were each looking 
for something and through our drawings and our 
discussions, we opened more doors and peeked 
inside. We spent lots of intensive time together, 
first creating artwork and then thoughtfully 
examining what we had created. Our leader gave 
us various exercises to fulfill and we either did 
what she said or we rebelled and did something 
else. It really didn't matter. Whatever we did was 


revealing. We came together. We went away from 
each other and then we came back together 
again. We were like waves on the shore, ebbing 
and flowing. We spent time together. We spent 
time alone. Every time we came back together 
and put our pictures on the wall I was filled with 
wonder. We made such beautiful things and we 
had so much fun doing it. I began to walk 
around as if I were bewitched. It was hard to 
believe I could come so far. From not wanting to 

come at all to feeling how incredibly fortunate I 
was to have had this experience. The beautiful 
surroundings, the trees, the water, the sand, the 
rocks, the wonderful food, the companionship 
and the great challenge of opening up your 
creative self and just letting it flow was something 
I'll never forget. 

I grew at least an inch. 

HA * % K 


Box 3716 


K Santa RosaCA 95402 (707)526-5974 

2321 Coddlngtown Center 

Santa Rosa. CA 95401 



Designating the month of March as 
"Women's History Month" 

Whereas American women of every race, class, and elhnic background 
helped found ihe Nalion in countless recorded and unrecorded ways as 
servants, slaves, nurses, nuns, homemakers, industrial workers, teachers, 
reformers, soldiers and pioneers; and 

Whereas American women have played and continue to play a critical 
economic, cultural and social role in every sphere of our Nation's life by 
constituting a significant portion of the labor force working in and outside 
of the home; and 

Whereas American women have played a unique role throughout our 
history by providing the majority of the Nation's volunteer labor force and 
have been particularly important in the establishment of early charitable, 
philanthropic and cultural institutions in the country; and 

Whereas American women of every race, class and ethnic background 
served as early leaders in the forefront of every major progressive social 
change movement, not only to secure their own right of suffrage and equal 
opportunity, but also in the abolitionist movement, the emancipation 
movement, the industrial labor union movement and the modern civil rights 
movement; and 

Whereas despite these contributions, the role of American women in 
history has been consistently overlooked and undervalued in the body of 
American history: 

Now, therefore, be it resolved by the Senate and (he House of Representatives 
of the United States of America in Congress assembled, that the month of 
March is designated as "Women's History Month," and the President U 
requested to issue a proclamation calling upon the people of the United States 
to observe such month with appropriate ceremonies and activities 


For more information contact: National Women 's History Project, 
P.O. Box 3716 Santa Rosa, CA 95402 (707) 526-5974 



v cou^ 





(605) 747-2263 (605) 747-2264 


Dear Dr c Hughes: 

On behalf of Sinte Gleska College I would like to thank you for 
your recent gift to our library. A copy of your latest issue devoted 
to the Native American Woman is especially significant for us here on 
the Rosebud Sioux Reservation. 

At Sinte Gleska College we are educating the young men and women 
who will change things here. Your gift demonstrates your commitment to 
our mission, and we are grateful for the support. 


Ann Szabo, 
Library Director 

Dear Ms. Hughes, 

I just finished reading the American Indian Women issue of the 
Creative Woman. Congratulations on a beautiful piece of work! I 
especially enjoyed the overview by Clara Sue Kidwell identifying the 
power of Indian women to effect change and the strong statements 
on the complementarity of men and women in traditional societies. 

In our work we've found that Indian women are working all across 
Indian Country for positive social change within a framework that 
values culture, family and community. It's exciting to see the 
diversity of skills and the vision that fuels the many different 
projects women are leading. 


Victoria Bomberry, Editor-ii 




Allen, Paula Gunn. "C'Koy'u, Old Woman" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 6. 

. "Iroquois Sunday: New York, 1982" (Poem) Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 14. 

. "Malinalli, La Malinche, to Cortes, Conquistador" (Poem) Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 7. 

. "Molly Brant, Iroquois Matron, Speaks" (Poem) Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 9. 

. "The One Who Skins Cats" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 10. 

. "Pocahontas to her English Husband, John Rolfe" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 8. 

. "Taking a Visitor to See the Ruins: For Joe Bruchac" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 14. 

Andrea, Marianne. "My Place, October" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 11. 

. "Rendezvous" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 11. 

Bailey, Beth A. "Threads" Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 26. 

Beard, Dorathea. "Chinese Women Artists: The Newest Flowers to Bloom in China's Liberalized Garden Of Art" Vol. 7, No. 4, P.- 4. 

Beregi, Christine. "Poem About My Mother" Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 10. 

. "Poem To An Unknown Lover" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 34. 

. "Poem For Jim" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 33. 

. "Poem To My Dead Father" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 33. 

Bernd, Daniel. "Bernard Shaw as a Woman Writer: Eliza, Candida, and Joan" Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 35. 

Bettis, Susan. Book Review Brief Authority: Fragments of One Woman's Testament by Rebecca E. Pitts. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 13. 

Bian Xiulan. "Popularizing Obstetrics In Minority Areas." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 23. 

Bonham, K. Paula. "The Dance" (Poem) Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 34 

Bortz, Sheri. Book Review: Sympathy and Science: Women Physicians in American Medicine Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 13 

Bowman, Betty B. "The Magic of Janet Bray's Tibetan Bells: Sounds and the Transpersonal Experience" Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 23 

Brady, Margaret. Book Review: Heartburn by Nora Ephron Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 38. 

. "Denise Levertov Reading/A Review." Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 30. 

Bray, Janet. "The Inner Winner's Circle." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 21. 
Campbell, Elizabeth Rose. "In Favor of Menstruation." Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 19. 
Canan, Janine. "Homage to Sappho." Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 13. 

Carmichael, Carolyn. Book Review: A Feeling for the Organism: The Life and Work of Barbara McClintock by Evelyn Fox Keller, 
W.H. Freeman and Co., 1983. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 32. 

. Book Review: Between Ourselves: Letters Between Mothers and Daughters: Edited by Karen Payne. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 34. 

. Book Review: One Writer's Beginnings by Eudora Welty, Harvard University Press, 1984. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 28. 

Book Review: Two Women of China by Nieh Hauling. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 45. 

Case, Sandra. "Two Friends 1969" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 4. 

. "Young Wife Early Spring" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 4. 

Castner, L.E. "At the Edge of Love" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 5. 

. "En Route" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 5. 

Chen Ji Di, M.D. "How I Became a Sports Medicine Scientist." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 37. 
Cheng Jingjing. "Zheng Xiaoying — China's Top Woman Conductor." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 27. 
Cirou, Joseph P. "Selected American Woman Composers." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 18. 
Dario, Sharon. "Artificial Intelligence" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 6. 

. "In the Middle of Things." Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 6. 

Degenhart, Karen. "My Brother Comes Home: An Interview with Video Prize Winner Terry O'Neill." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 21. 

Diamond, Olivia. "The Fishwife's Declaration of Independence" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 32. 

Dohner-Livingston, Ellen. "When Is Human Life? The Abortion Dilemma." Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 14. 

Elkind, Sue Saniel. "What I Need" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 12. 

Ellis, Alis. "Mercy Otis Warren" (Profile). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 25. 

Englehorn, Paula and Rhinehart, Lillian M. "Journey's Into Color." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 18. 

Fallingstar, Cerridwen. "Exploring Other Lives: Healing the Ones We Live Now." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 37. 

Feldman, Walter. "News and Views." Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 18. 

"Sexual Bias in the Courtroom. "Vol. 8, No. 4, P. . 

Foster, Sesshu. Book Review: Under the Ladder to Heaven by Julia Stein. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 29. 
Fowler, Anne C. "A Day in the Hospital" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"Birthday" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"Mincemeat" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"To My Foreign Lover" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

Gilbert, Temmi. Book Review: "Random Reflections on an Anthology." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 27. 

Gosnell, William (ed.). "The Diary of Constance Talbot." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 10. 

Gould, Janice. Book Review: "Native Women Wisdom - The Sacred Hoop" by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 31. 

Gould, Janice. "How Deep The Woods Are: Problems of Return in Louis Erdrich's Poetry." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 22. 

Grayson, Deborah Eve, C.P.T. "The Healing Art of Poetry as Therapy." Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 22. 

"Your Hands" (Poem) Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 3. 

Green, Janet. "Perinatal Death. Bereavement and the Healing Process." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 40. 


Griffin, Susan. "Split Culture." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 4. 

Hampton, Carol M. "Why Write History? A Caddo Grandmother's Perspective." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 13. 

Handy, Nixeon Civille. "Command Performance" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

. "Domestic Crossroads" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

. "Early Truth" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

Hanselman, Marguerite O. "Getting Ahead with the Wash." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 28. 

He Bi. "Giving Hope to Cancer Patients." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 25. 

Herbstman, Helen. "Working Woman" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 15. 

Hill, Joan. "The First Ceremony, Mother and Child" Cover. Vol. 8, No. 3. 

. "Indian Art: A Form of Visual Prayer." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 19. 

Ho Kuosen. "Maranda's Life in Music." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 35. 

Hughes, Carolyn J. Fairweather. "Tactics of a Teenage Guerilla" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 22. 

Hughes, Helen. "Editor's Column" 

. "Whatever Happened to the Creative Woman?" Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 41. 

. "Women in Print." Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 45. 

"The China Experience-Trip of a Lifetime." Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 45. 

. "Every Day a Sabbath: A Report." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 46. 

. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 46. 

. "Welcome to the City of Sisterly Love!— A Report." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 45. 

Hunter, Carol. "Body Imagery and Gestalt Work in the Reduction of Stress, Anxiety, Pain and Conflicts." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 14. 

Imperial, Susan. "Reggae Beat" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

Jenkins, Barbara. "Forest Beach Photographs." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 35. 

Jewell, Terri L. "Kuru" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 9. 

Jewell, Terri L. "Old Woman Photograph B24" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 9. 

Khosla, Maya. "Paper Breeze" a poem Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 30. 

Kidwell, Clara Sue. Book Review: The Pueblo Storyteller by Barbara A. Babcock, Guy Monthan and Doris Monthan. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 29. 

Kidwell, Clara Sue. "Native American Women and Power." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 4. 

Kirstimon, Lynntia. "In Tribute to Martha Graham: Her Impact as Woman-Artist." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 4. 

Klein, Rosemary. "Maggie" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 11. 

Klein, Rosemary. "Mother" (Poem) Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 11. 

Laffin, Julie. "Focus On: Sharon Couzin." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 24. 

Lang, Eveline. "The Social Bifurcation of the Feminine." Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 23. 

Levine, Judy Katz. "A Blues Pantoum" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 30. 

Lewis, Joan. "Artists in Progress: Three Women in Dance." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 8. 

. "The Last Adolescent" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 22. 

. Book Review: Tangled Vines: A Collection of Mother & Daughter Poems Edited by Lyn Lifshin. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 43. 

Lewis, Joan Barchard. "Saint Joan" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 37. 

Lifshin, Lyn. "Widow" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 12. 

Lincoln, Kenneth. "Medicine for All." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 26. 

Lindsay, Elizabeth. "The Influence of Ukiyo-e and Utamaro on the Work of Mary Cassatt." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 22. 

McCann, Janet. "2 A.M." (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 40. 

. "K-Mart" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

. "Diane Arbus: Naked Woman with Harlequin Glasses" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 40. 

McCauley, Carole Spearin. "Gatja H. Rothe, Portrait of an Artist." Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 16. 

MacAdams, Cynthia. "Rising Goddess." Cover Photograph. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 2. 

Mankiller, Wilma. "Community Economic Development in the Cherokee Nation." Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 16. 

Marchewka-Brown, Nicole. "Exercises" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 7. 

Marcus, Susan Bass. "Fear-y Tales: A Performance Art Program". Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 30. 

Montgomery, Gail. "The Healing Touch of Magical Women." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 35. 

Morgan, Barbara. Untitled - Cover Photograph. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 2. 

Morrison, Lillian. "The Muse" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

. "Old, Old Lady" (Poem). Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

Mouw, Gudrun. "An Evening Alone" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

. "Pulling a Lotus From the Mud" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

Murphy, Sheila E. "My Mother's Face" (Poem). Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 7. 

Nai Xin. "Menopause and Women's Health." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 15. 

Oliver, Suzanne. "The Breakthrough." Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 38. 

Olson, Catherine. "Women in China-An Annotated and Selected Bibliography." Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 39. 

O'Toole, Maureen. "Rotogravure" (Poem) Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

Palmer, Suzanne. "Annotated Bibliography and Resource List." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 39. 

Palmer, Suzanne. "Healing Arts and Rituals." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 17. 

Pattee, Rowena. "Crystal Earth Healing." Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 31. 

Petrilli, Sally. "The Forest Beach YWCA Creativity Weekend: A Personal View." Vol. 8, No. 4. P. 37. 

Pitts, Rebecca E. "World Sacrifice" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 17. 

Pollock, Mary S. "Margie Adam Songwriter: The Uses of Fantasy." Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 12. 


White, Gail. "The Sculptor" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 33. 

. "The Scholar's Wife" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 33. 

Whitney, Jennifer. "Haircut" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 32. 
. "Clouds" a poem. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 32. 


"Accommodation" by Joanne Zimmerman. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 30. 

"Annotated Bibliography and Resource List" by Suzanne Palmer. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 39. 

"Artists in Progress: Three Women in Dance" by Joan Lewis. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 8. 

"At the Edge of Love." Poem by L.E. Castner. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 5. 

"Bernard Shaw as a Woman Writer: Eliza, Candida, and Joan" by Daniel Bernd. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 35. 

Between Ourselves: Letters Between Mothers and Daughters. Edited by Karen Payne. Reviewed by Carolyn Carmichael. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 34. 

"Birthday" Poem by Anne. C. Fowler. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"A Blues Pantoum" a poem by Judy Katz Levine. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 30. 

"A Breakthrough" by Suzanne Oliver. Vol. 8, No. 4. 

"Body Imagery and Gestalt Work in the Reduction of Stress, Anxiety, Pain and Conflicts" by Carol Hunter. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 14. 

Brief Authority: Fragments of One Woman's Testament by Rebecca E. Pitts. Reviewed by Susan Bettis. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 13. 

"Chinese Women Artists: The Newest Flowers to Bloom in China's Liberalized Garden of Art" by Dorathea Beard. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 4. 

"C'Koy'u, Old Woman" Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 6. 

"Clare" Poem by Deborah Shouse. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 10. 

"Clouds" a poem by Jennifer Whitney. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 32. 

"Command Performance." Poem by Nixeon Civille Handy. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

"Community Economic Development in the Cherokee Nation" by Wilma Mankiller. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 16. 

"Creative Relating" by Gong Shu. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 9. 

"Crystal Earth Healing" by Rowena Pattee. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 31. 

"The Dance." Poem by K. Paula Bonham. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 34. 

"Dance Therapy as a Healing Art" by Judith Beers Stanton. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 24. 

"Denise Levertov Reading", a Review by Margaret Brady. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 30. 

"Diane Arbus: Naked Woman with Harlequin Glasses." Poem by Janet McCann. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 40. 

"The Diary of Constance Talbot" edited by William Gosnell. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. . 

"Dissolution of Marriage." Poem by Lisa Yount. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 12. 

"Domestic Crossroads." Poem by Nixeon Civille Handy. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

"Early Truth." Poem by Nixeon Civille Handy. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 8. 

"An Evening Alone." Poe by Gudrun Mouw. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

"An Expert Grass-Grower" by Xiao Ming. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 33. 

"Endangered Species" by Patricia Roth Schwartz. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 36. 

"En Route." Poem by L.E. Castner. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 5. 

"Etching, 1964." Cover Photograph by Betye Saar. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 2. 

"Exercises." Poem by Nicole Marchewka-Brown. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 7. 

"Exploring Other Lives: Healing the Ones We Live Now" by Cerridwen Fallingstar. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 37. 

"Fear-y Tales: A Performance Art Program." Review by Susan Bass Marcus. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 30. 

A Feeling for the Organism: The Life and Work of Barbara McClintock by Evelyn Fox Keller. Reviewed by Carolyn Carmichael. 

Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 32. 

"Fine Line Creative Arts Center" by Claudia Snow. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 39. 

"The First Ceremony, Mother and Child." Cover by Joan Hill. Vol. 8, No. 3. 

First Frost. Poems by Kathryn Kerr; Photographs by Raymond Bial. Reviewed by Duke Rank. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 42. 

"The Fishwife's Declaration of Independence." Poem by Olivia Diamond. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 32. 

"Focus On: Sharon Couzin" by Julie Laffin. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 24. 

"The Forest Beach YWCA Creativity Weekend: A Personal View" by Sally Petrilli. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 37. 

"Forest Beach Photographs" by Barbara Jenkins. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 35. 

"Gatja H. Rothe, Portrait of an Artist" by Carole Spearin McCauley. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 16. 

"Getting Ahead with the Wash" by Marguerite O. Hanselman. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 28. 

"Giving Hope to Cancer Patients" by He Bi. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 25. 

"Haircut" a poem by Jennifer Whitney. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 32. 

'Healer with Sound, Breath and Quartz Crystals" by Uma Sita Silbey. Vol. 8, No. 1. P. 33. 

'The Healing Art of Poetry as Therapy" by Deborah Eve Grayson, C.P.T. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 22. 

'Healing Arts and Rituals" by Suzanne Palmer. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 17. 

'The Healing Touch of Magical Women" by Gail Montgomery. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 35. 

Heartbreak Hotel by Gabrielle Burton. Reviewed by Emily Wasiolek. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

Heartburn by Nora Ephron. Reviewed by Margaret Brady. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 38. 

'Hidden Feminism in Gertrude Stein's Roses and Rooms" by Doris T. Wight. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 5. 

'Homage to Sappho" by Janine Canan. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 13. 

'How Deep the Woods Are: Problems of Return in Louis Erdrich's Poetry" by Janice Gould. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 22. 

'How I Became a Sports Medicine Scientist" by Ji Di Chen. M.D. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 37. 


"Ida Borchard, Indomitable Dancer at 90" by Ursula Sklan. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 7. 

In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women's Development by Carol Gilligan. Reviewed by Charles Saltzman. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 35. 

"In Favor of Menstruation" by Elizabeth Rose Campbell. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 19. 

"The Influence of Ukiyo-e and Utamaro on the Work of Mary Cassatt" by Elizabeth Lindsay. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 22. 

"In the Middle of Things." Poem by Dario Sharon. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 6. 

"In Tribute to Martha Graham: Her Impact as Woman-Artist" by Lynntia Kirstimon. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 4. 

"Indian Art: A Form of Visual Prayer" by Joan Hill. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 19. 

"The Inner Winner's Circle" by Janet Bray. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 21. 

"Iroquois Sunday: New York, 1982." Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 14. 

"Journeys into Color" by Lillian M. Rhinehart 6k Paula Englehorn. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 18. 

"K-Mart." Poem by Janet McCann. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

"Kuru." Poem by Terri L. Jewell. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 9. 

"The Last Adolescent." Poem by Joan Lewis. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 22. 

"Maggie." Poem by Rosemary Klein. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 11. 

"The Magic of Janet Bray's Tibetan Bells: Sounds and the Transpersonal Experience" by Betty B. Bowman. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 23. 

"Malinalli, La Malinche, to Cortes, Conquistador." Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 7. 

"Maranda's Life in Music" by Kuosen Ho. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 35. 

"Margie Adam, Songwriter: The Uses of Fantasy" by Mary S. Pollock. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 12. 

"Medicine for AH" by Kenneth Lincoln. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 26. 

"Menopause and Women's Health" by Nai Xin. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 15. 

"Mercy Otis Warren." Profile by Alis Ellis. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 25. 

"Mincemeat." Poem by Anne C. Fowler. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"Molly Brant, Iroquois Matron, Speaks." Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 9. 

"Mother." Poem by Rosemary Klein. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 11. 

"The Muse." Poem by Lillian Morrison. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

"My Brother Comes Home." An Interview with Video Prize Winner Terry O'Neill by Karen Degenhart. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 21. 

"My Mother's Face." Poem by Sheila E. Murphy. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 7. 

"My Place, October." Poem by Marianne Andrea. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 11. 

"Native American Women and Power" by Clara Sue Kidwell. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 4. 

"Native Women Wisdom"-The Sacred Hoop by Paula Gunn Allen. Reviewed by Janice Gould. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 31. 

"News and Views" by Walter Feldman. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 18. 

"Ode to Aphrodite." Poem by Sappho (Translated from the Greek by William Ellery Leonard). Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 14. 

"Old, Old Lady." Poem by Lillian Morrison. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

"Old Woman Photograph B24." Poem by Terri L. Jewell. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 9. 

"On the Raising of Daughters" by Lynn Thomas Strauss. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 8. 

"The One Who Skins Cats." Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 10. 

One Writer's Beginnings by Eudora Welty. Reviewed by Carolyn Carmichael. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 28. 

"Otter Creek in Winter." A poem by Ruth B. Thornton. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 31. 

"Paper Breeze" a poem by Maya Khosla. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 30. 

"Passage" Poem by Joan Ritty. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 16. 

"Passing on of Mothercraft" by Terri Schwartz. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 4. 

"Perinatal Death, Bereavement and the Healing Process" by Janet Green. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 40. 

"Playing Post Office" by Lisa Ruffolo. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 15. 

"Pocahontas to her English Husband, John Rolfe." Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 8. 

"Poem About My Mother" by Christine Beregi. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 10. 

"Poem for Jim" by Christine Beregi. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 33. 

"Poem to an Unknown Lover" by Christine Beregi. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 34. 

"Poem to My Dead Father." Poem by Christine Beregi. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 33. 

"Popularizing Obstetrics in Minority Areas" by Bian Xiulan. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 23. 

"Portrait of Mabel Dodge at the Villa Curonia: A Detective Story" by Allegra Stewart. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 9. 

The Pueblo Storyteller by Barbara A. Babcock, Guy Monthan and Doris Monthan. Reviewed by Clara Sue Kidwell. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 29. 

"Pulling a Lotus from the Mud." Poem by Gudrun Mouw. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

"Random Reflections on an Anthology" Review by Temmie Gilbert. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 27. 

A Refuge from Darkness by Naomi Shepard Reviewed by Ursula Sklan. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 31. 

"Reggae Beat" Poem by Susan Imperial. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 41. 

"Rendezvous" Poem by Marianne Andrea. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 11. 

"Rising Goddess" Cover Photograph by Cynthia MacAdams. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 2. 

"Rotogravure" Poem by Maureen O'Toole. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 10. 

"Saint Joan" Poem by Joan Barchard Lewis. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 37. 

"The Scholar's Wife" a poem by Gail White. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 33. 

"The Sculptor" a poem by Gail White. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 33. 

"Selected American Woman Composers" by Joseph P. Cirou. Vol. 7, No. 2, P. 18. 

"Sexual Bias in the Courtroom" by Walter Feldman. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 34. 

"Shamanism: A Spiritual Discipline for Personal and Community Enpowerment." by Lyn Taylor. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 29. 

"The Social Bifurcation of the Feminine" by Eveline Lang. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 23. 


"Solving Family Conflicts" by Rao Fudi. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 18. 

"Split Culture" by Susan Griffin. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 4. 

"Storm" Poem by Marion Schoeberlein. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 15. 

"The Strawberry Window Cat" Poem by Marion Schoeberlein. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 15. 

Sympathy and Science: Women Physicians in American Medicine. Reviewed by Sheri Bortz. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 13. 

"Tactics of a Teenage Guerilla" Poem by Carolyn J. Fairweather Hughes. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 22. 

"Taking a Visitor to See the Ruins-For Joe Bruchac" Poem by Paula Gunn Allen. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 14. 

"Tang Figurine" Poem by Rose Rosberg. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 16. 

Tangled Vines: A Collection of Mother & Daughter Poems. Edited by Lyn Lifshin. Reviewed by Joan Lewis. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 43. 

"Thoughts on Painting" by Zhao Xiaomo. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 29. 

"Threads" by Beth A. Bailey. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 26. 

"Threat Gesture." Cover Photograph by G.H. Rothe. Vol. 8, No. 2. 

"To My Foreign Lover" Poem by Anne C. Fowler. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 7. 

"2 A.M." Poem by Janet McCann. Vol. 8, No. 2, P. 40. 

"Two Friends 1969" Poem by Sandra Case. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 4. 

Two Women of China by Hauling Nieh. Reviewed by Carolyn Carmichael. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 45. 

"Tying Maw's Quilt" by Colleen Tracy. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 20. 

Under the Ladder to Heaven by Julia Stein. Reviewed by Sesshu Foster. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 29. 

"Wan Shanshan-A Bridge Specialist" by Xiao Ming. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 21. 

"What I Need" Poem by Sue Saniel Elkind. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 12. 

"When is Human Life? The Abortion Dilemma." by Ellen Dohner-Livingston. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 14. 

"Who is a Dance Therapist?" by Frieda F. Sherman. Vol. 8, No. 1 P. 27. 

"Why I Ride the Horse" Poem by Christine Swanberg. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 23. 

"Why Write History? A Caddo Grandmother's Perspective" by Carol M. Hampton. Vol. 8, No. 3, P. 13. 

"Widow" Poem by Lyn Lifshin. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 12. 

"Winter" Poem by Joan Ritty. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 9. 

"A Woman Photographer" by Wang De. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 31. 

"Women as Single Parents. . .by Choice" by Linda Steiner. Vol. 7, No. 3, P. 12. 

"Women in China-An Annotated and Selected Bibliography." Compiled by Catherine Olson. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 39. 

"Women Overpass Designers" by Su Bian. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 19. 

"Working Woman" Poem by Helen Herbstman. Vol. 8, No. 1, P. 15. 

"World Sacrifice" a poem by Rebecca E. Pitts. Vol. 8, No. 4, P. 17. 

"Young Wife Early Spring" Poem by Sandra Case. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 4. 

"Your Hands" Poem by Deborah Eve Grayson. Vol. 7, No. 1, P. 23. 

"Zheng Xiaoying— China's Top Woman Conductor" by Cheng Jingjing. Vol. 7, No. 4, P. 27. 

A service of 
Thanksgiving for 

Sunday. August 23, 1987 


Elmer Witt, former chaplain at Governors State 
University, recently shared with us the tragic loss 
of his daughter, Mary Kathryn, age 27, in an 
auto accident. Mary was an unusual young 
woman who accomplished more in her young life 
than many who live far longer: she worked as a 
volunteer with an alternative custody criminal 
justice program, as a street people counselor, and 
at Holden Village with her dad. Her years were 
life-giving and life-enriching. The Center for 
Global Education at Augsburg College in 
Minneapolis has named its scholarship fund for 
low income people in Mary's honor. Who among 
us has not known the grief and pain of loss? In 
remembering, we create a memorial by finding 
ways to continue the meanings and values that a 
life expressed. We send our condolences to the 
Witt family. 




Changes and Plans 

Harmonic convergence has come and gone. The 
cynics scoffed. (But why is it that these same 
pundits never ridicule the World Day of Prayer, a 
similar international day of shared intention 
toward peace and harmony? Guess it must depend 
on whether such good intentions coalesce inside 
or outside the established institutions.) Whatever 
the causative forces at work, some decent things 
have happened: Arias won the Nobel Peace Prize 
for his plan for Central America, the super- 
powers negotiated arms reduction, and Wall 
Street and the over-inflated US dollar both 
endured needed corrections. If the philosophy of 
the I Ching is correct, and all phenomena, from 
the cosmic to the microscopic, are related in a 
given instant of time, we should look for signs of 
harmonic convergence in our own lives. 

The progress of The Creative Woman continues 
with University sponsorship ensured for the next 
five years. Your editor, freed from professorial 
obligations, can now devote more time to the 
care and feeding of the magazine. We have begun 
a promotional effort to place TCW in feminist 
bookstores in this country and abroad, an 
initiative that has already put us in twenty 
bookstores in the United States and Canada, 
with nibbles of interest from as far away as 
London. We look forward to the formation of a 
new task force on fund-raising to support our 
growth and outreach. The Advisory Council 
recently responded to a lengthy questionnaire 
with massive advice and innovative suggestions. 
We need the ideas of our readers, too. Can you 
help to extend the circulation by tapping into 
your networks? How do you want to see us 
develop in the next five years? What topics would 
interest you? 

Linda Grace-Kobas has suggested the formation 
of discussion groups in various cities with a focus 
around the magazine. We'll publish a directory of 
contact people (from Maine to California, and in 
Canada, too). If you are willing to be listed in 
such a directory, write to us. What can you 
expect? At the very least, a few telephone calls 
from women who are interested in talking to a 
like-minded soul. Our readers are scattered far 
and wide. And, who knows? it might be the 
beginning of a new support group, action group, 
or book review group. When you start network- 
ing, you can never know where it may lead. 


Future Issues 

Spring-Summer 1988: WOMEN OF ISRAEL: 

Guest Editor Barbara Jenkins 

Guest Editor Pat Gardner 

Guest Editor Marilyn Fischbach 

Also in the Planning Stage: Diaries and Journals, 
The Gaia Hypothesis, Women Flying, Women in 
Education, and Empowering Women of Color, 
Guest Editor Loretta Ross. 



Readers may borrow the following additions to 
our tape collection, all from Holden Village, a 
religious retreat and conference center in Chelan, 

WOMEN AND POWER: Sources of Power, 
Stephanie Riger 

MOTHER; Thinking About Inclusive Language 

Communities, Exploring our Liturgical Needs, 
Rosemary Ruether 


Rosemary Ruether 

ISLAM: The Prophet, John Taylor 


Our apologies to Paula Gunn Allen for the misprinting of her poem in the 
last issue. Here it is as it should be. 

C'Koy'u, Old Woman 

old woman there in the earth 
outside you we wait 
do you dream of birth, bring 
what is outside inside? 


woman inside 
woman outside 

old woman there in the sky 
we are waiting inside you 
dreaming your dream of birthing 
get what is inside/outside 

a hey a hey a hey a ho 
a hey a hey a hey a ho 
a hi oh ho a hi oh ho 
a hey a hey a hey a ho 


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